Forever and Always
by Darkwing731
Summary: PreHBP, but with spoilers. There have been rumors concerning Draco Malfoy. Horrible, terrifying rumors. When he arrives at school, people soon realize that he'll do anything to be left alone. However, Hermione Granger has different intentions this year...
1. September First

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter! So leave me alone!

_-x-x-x-_

**Story Summary: **Set in seventh year. When Draco Malfoy turns up in school after a series of mysteries, lonely and looking more vicious than usual, the school is swept into rumors. Maybe it's because his mother was brutally murdered, and he was the only one left on the scene. Maybe it's the menacing sharp scar that haunts his face, cutting over his eye and cheek. Maybe it's the fact that he would do anything, ANYTHING, to get people to leave him alone, even threats or physical harm. Or maybe, just _maybe_… it's the fact that Hermione Granger won't leave him alone.

_-x-x-x-_

Hmm, I think we'll dive right into this now, shall we?

-

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter One--))  
September First

-

Hermione Granger couldn't remember being this excited in her entire life. She was fluttering around nervously, her heart racing and her stomach alive with butterflies. She was clenching the paper in her hand tightly, creating tears and ceaseless wrinkles in the parchment, which were sure to become permanent, no matter how hard she tried to get them out.

"Calm down, Hermione," Harry said soothingly, grinning at Ron, who was smirking.

"You'll have lots of fun," Ron said to her, patting her arm reassuringly. Harry caught his eye, and Ron, like he always did, blushed and withdrew his hand.

Hermione was too excited and anxious to even notice them.

"I simply _must _know who Head Boy is; whoever it is, he will affect the rest of my year. If it's somebody I like, I'll be sure to have lots of fun, but if it's somebody I don't like—"

"Any Slytherin—" Ron muttered, and Harry stifled a snort.

"—then my entire year will be _ruined_!" she cried dramatically, flinging her arms around Ron's neck and hugging him tightly.

"And I won't have any time to see you two!" she exclaimed in a muffled voice, as she buried her head in Ron's shoulder.

"It's not like you're moving out of the country, Hermione," Harry said, as they waited to go through the barrier.

Harry then looked at Ron, and nearly exploded in laughter, though he managed to contain himself just in time. There was Hermione, clinging onto Ron for what seemed like dear life, looking like she never wanted to let go.

And then there was Ron.

He stood still, his arms hovering in midair, not sure if they should be around Hermione or hanging at his sides. His ears were clearly rivaling the color of his hair, and he was mouthing unsaid words at Harry.

Harry suddenly put his arms around himself and mimed kissing, which, when he noticed, put Ron in a right state and caused him to start. He glared at Harry, and then, making up his mind, put his arms around Hermione and hugged her back, his ears slowly returning to normal.

"Don't worry, Hermione, we'll still be here!"

Ron's cheeks were slowly returning to his normal color.

He glared at Harry who was now dancing around like a five-year-old and pointing at them. Ron gave Harry a rude gesture, to which the raven-haired boy grinned and danced harder.

Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder and looked Ron in the eyes, sighing. "Do you promise?" she whispered, her eyes round. Ron noticed how close they were, when he discovered he could feel her breath on his lips.

Bravely, he put his forehead to hers, bringing their faces, if possible, even closer. Their noses touched.

"I promise," he whispered back, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Hermione's cheeks were reddening, and she hastily drew back from him, smiling shyly, and feeling a slight jolt in the region of her stomach that she didn't think had anything to do with nerves.

She turned and then a slightly stunned silence took over her. She watched in alarm as she noticed that Harry was behaving like a mad-man, dancing about wildly.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped dancing when he heard his name, and when he turned and noticed their staring, he turned bright red.

"Let's get on the train," he muttered, aflame with embarrassment, and he grabbed his trolley and stormed through platform nine and three quarters, where Ginny the rest of the Weasley family would surely be waiting for them. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and simultaneously snickered.

_-x-x-x-_

Hermione flounced up the corridor of the train, looking pleased but extremely nervous. She was holding onto Ron's arm with her right hand, and onto Harry's with her left. With extreme difficulty, they kept up with her pace, also lugging their trunks and things.

They finally found a somewhat empty compartment, which was only occupied by Luna and Neville. Before either Ron or Harry could say hello, however, Hermione had ordered them to drop their bags and follow her to the first compartment.

The corridors near the head of the train were cluttered with Prefects from all the houses, so Hermione left Harry and Ron, each with a kiss on the cheek, (the one she gave Ron was much longer) before disappearing into the crowd.

She nervously tried to flatten the parchment she had been clutching, and, with a trembling hand, she showed it to the wary-looking woman who was standing in front of the compartment. After a moment's hesitation, the woman moved aside and opened the Head Door.

Hermione noticed the compartment windows had drapes on them, probably to keep any nosy students out. The woman coughed, and she moved into the compartment quickly.

The compartment hardly differed from the usual ones. Of course, it was a bit larger, as were the seats, and the windows were a bit wider, but that was it, really.

Hermione turned to her right, ready to greet the Head Boy, whom she hadn't noticed until now. Upon seeing him, however, she froze.

Over the summer, Hermione had been getting the _Daily Prophet_, to keep up with the news of the Wizarding world. It had often supported large headlines about murders and disappearances, along with speculations about the whereabouts of You-Know-Who.

Not more than three weeks ago, one of the many brutal murders caught her eye. After three days, there was some kind of intervention, and the murderer was released, having personal evidence and sworn loyalties against his imprisonment from a reliable person.

No one actually believed he would come back to Hogwarts, everyone had thought that he would stay away, not to bother with something as petty as his education anymore. But oh, how wrong they were. How very, _very_ wrong.

Hermione's mouth opened slightly, and she subconsciously took a step backwards, the back of her knees hitting the bench behind her.

The tall, slender form of Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, intimidating and looking murderous. He was a good foot taller than her, towering over her like a wolf over its prey, with a broad chest and pronounced, sinewy-looking shoulders, both of which were exemplified by the tight, long sleeved black shirt he had on.

He was noticeably thin and lean, as if he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days, and didn't want to. His cheeks were hollowed; deep, weary and angry dark lines slipped down at an angle from his eyes. His silvery blond hair was partly tucked behind his ears, while the rest was pulled in a bunch at the nape of his neck or falling over his gleaming eyes, making him look predator-like and ready to take a knife to the closest throat, whether it was his own or Hermione's. His shoulders stiffed and held high, his lip curling and his silver eyes narrowed, adorned with his dangerously arched eyebrows, lying low and vicious.

However, the thing that caught her attention was a thin and jagged scar that started above his pale left eyebrow, falling over his eye, and stopped in a graceful arch on his cheek. The scar, however, hadn't affected his eye; it still looked as silver and as malicious as ever.

His body was tense, his fingers fisted so harshly his knuckles were white. His jaw was forcibly clenched, a muscle twitching ungracefully on the side of his pale face, which made it seem he was trying with all his might not to open his mouth and roar at her. He chin was jutted forward slightly, giving his face a sharper, more threatening look.

"_Y_-_You're_ Head Boy?" she gasped, trying to take another step backwards and promptly falling into the seat behind her. She felt as if he was closing in on her for the kill. Sitting in her seat made her feel even more frightened, and noticeably smaller than she had ever felt in her life.

"I would think that's rather obvious, Mudblood," he snarled, moving away and sitting in the seat across from her, still glowering.

Hermione gaped at him, amazed by the brutality and absent reason for such callousness. His vicious glower was only intensified by his hard, cold silver eyes, and the haunting scar that was carved into his fine features. She could hardly believe that he hadn't attacked her, or attempted to murder her on the spot, just like he had with his—

_Hermione that is none of your business!_ she told herself firmly.

Hermione slowly and cautiously took her eyes off him and staring at her knees uncertainly. What on earth had she done to deserve this was beyond her, but she hoped someone would jump in and tell her it was an early April Fool's joke.

And suddenly, as if her silent wish was granted, the compartment door slid open, and the Transfiguration professor walked in, looking brisk and annoyed. She was muttering something about the first years, and Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly.

As McGonagall rolled her eyes and slid the door closed behind her, Hermione caught a glimpse of prefects trying to gain a peek at the Head Boy and Girl if they hadn't already seen them. The professor sighed and withdrew a slender scroll of parchment from her robe pocket.

The teacher looked at Hermione, greeting her with a rare smile full of warmth; words could not describe how proud the Professor was of Hermione.

When she looked at Malfoy, Hermione was surprised to see the same warm smile sent his way, something she had never done before. And she was quite sure she saw a flicker of sympathy in her old brown eyes.

"Well, I'm not surprised to see either of you in here. You both have acquired the highest scores on your OWL's, and although there have been—" she paused and pursed her lips, before continuing, "—certain _circumstances_ in which you both have caused some trouble and had points deducted, you've still received this position.

Being a Head student means having many responsibilities, even more than you both had as Prefects. You will, of course, also receive new privileges, which you are not to brag over to the other students," she added, giving Malfoy a pointed look.

"Head students at Hogwarts have their own living quarters, up in the South tower. It consists of a common-room, two separate bedrooms and bathrooms. The common room, you will find, has four portraits, each of which leads to one of the four house common rooms at Hogwarts. You are to use those of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff only in case of emergency. Understood?"

Hermione nodded, while Malfoy remained silent and looked out of the window. "Good. I will see you tonight at the sorting, then." And with that, McGonagall slid the door open, and walked out.

Without warning, a flood of prefect students came in bustling for the best seats, talking, gossiping, and chatting. Ron shoved his way through the crowd, and sat in the seat next to Hermione, while Harry and Ginny sat across from them, their hands intertwined. Hermione grinned at Ginny, who smiled in return and gave a pointed look at Ron; Hermione blushed and looked away.

For some reason, her eyes settled on Malfoy, who was snarling at Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, the seventh year Slytherin prefects. Hermione was astonished to see his face twisted in anger and revulsion, and he shoved them both away, leaving Hermione to wonder in curiosity why Malfoy would suddenly detest his old friends, who were sending him wary and alarmed looks.

Once everyone had settled, Malfoy had ended up leaning against the window, and Hermione was still sitting next to Ron. She stood as well, trying to hush everyone with great difficulty, until Ron shouted "Shut up!" and everyone was quiet with surprise. Hermione grinned at him, and he glowed scarlet.

Looking around, Hermione raised her eyebrows, looking business-like and important, before starting the Head speech.

"Hello prefects, new and old. Most of you know me; _I'm_ Hermione Granger, Head Girl. Head Boy, as you can tell, is Draco Malfoy. This year, we're—"

"Granger, just _shut up_," Malfoy interrupted, cutting her off rudely with a scathing tone. Hermione gave him an angry look, while several people sniggered.

"Since I take pity on those who suffer Granger's rambling, I'll just sum it up for you idiots who haven't heard this stupid speech: you take advantage of your duties, your badge is taken away. Give out any unnecessary detentions, and your badge will be taken away. In so many words, be as much as a Gryffindor are you can," he said, and smirked triumphantly at Hermione, who looked absolutely furious, "or the same thing happens. Got it?" His voice was angry and annoyed, and he did _not_ look very happy. Several people nodded.

Hermione took his brief silence as her cue to start talking. When she opened her mouth, but Malfoy cut it off yet again.

"And before Granger tries to go into a long-winded speech again, you've got duties to do, like help with decorations and you should help younger students around. You have access to the prefect bathrooms now, and your curfew is later, since you have to patrol on weekdays. Anything else, take it up with Granger, and I'm sure she'll tell you all about it," he finished sarcastically.

When silence was the only that that replied to him, he snarled "_Well_? What are you waiting for? Get out of here!"

The effect was instant; people shot out of their seats and started for the door, glad to be free of the compartment. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, both of them wearing the same expression of confusion. What had made Malfoy so angry?

The compartment was slowly emptying, Slytherins ahead, and Malfoy at the front, marching through. Most people jumped out of the way, and Hermione frowned at their timid behavior and at Malfoy's rudeness.

Ron's yelling brought her out of her thoughts with a snap. "Oi! _Don't do that_!" Hermione followed Ron's gaze to see Harry and Ginny merely conversing, their heads close together, simply ignored Ron.

Some of the Hufflepuffs lolled around and laughed, most of them sitting down. Ron turned and engaged Justin Flinch-Fletchley in a heated conversation about Quidditch, while Hermione stood and decided to follow the end of the crowd in search of their compartment, since all of her books were there.

She waited at the back of the crowd and traipsed down the train, stopping sometimes while people pulled open compartment doors. Hermione smiled faintly as she thought of Ron and all of her not-so-platonic feelings for him that triggered her thinking of him.

She was alone now, almost towards the end of the train, where compartments were thinning out and fewer people occupied them. She hummed absently to herself, glancing in compartments every now and then to check on students, and without warning, her mind wandered to Malfoy.

Why had he been so sullen, so angry, so _different_ during the meeting? He had gotten off _innocent_ after Dumbledore had risen to the defense, so he should be _happy_, which meant he should be smug and arrogant and down-right annoying. But instead he was extremely mean.

She smirked to herself as possibilities filled her mind for the cause of his anger. Suddenly, all she wanted to know was what happened. And she silently agreed with herself that it would become this year's project for herself. She wouldn't tell Ron, Harry or Ginny (and boy, she told Ginny almost _everything_) and no one would catch on to her little game.

Hermione sighed suddenly and almost laughed at her foolishness. Why would she spend perfectly good time wasting it on a boy, _Malfoy_ none the less?

Hermione came to a compartment she thought might be her own, expecting to see Neville and Luna grinning back up at her as she entered. But she didn't.

Malfoy was looking rather cross with the two Slytherin's sitting across from him. Pansy and Blaise were both talking rapidly, and he was replying in a vicious way. Suddenly, his face twisted in a scowl, and Hermione watched in surprise as he flung himself to the door and opened it.

Before she had any time to duck, or run, he was standing in front of her, silver eyes angry and mouth set in a firm line.

The first thought that crossed her mind was that he wouldn't look so bad if he wasn't sneering or angry all the time. The scar over his left eye and cheek wasn't too bad; actually, it was only something she would get used to. She suddenly envied his beautiful hair; it looked natural being pulled in a bunch at the nape of his neck, while the rest of it fell lazily around his face and brushed his jaw line. She didn't know any other boy who could pull off that look and appear appealing at the same time.

But the moment passed as soon as it came, and a deep hatred filled his eyes, which were suddenly narrowed with contempt and disgust. His lip curled and his hollowed, thin face was twisted in his angry scowl again.

Hermione would've moved, but the next moment he shoved her forcefully to the side, sending her flying and sprawling out on the ground with a shriek before she could even move out of the way. He thundered down the hallway silently, brooding and raging mad, while his thin figure pulsed with anger.

Pansy and Blaise stuck their heads out of the compartment and looked at Draco's retreating figure with surprise. Then Pansy spotted Hermione, and her eyes narrowed.

"Hello, Mudblood," Pansy sneered as soon as she laid eyes on Hermione. Blaise Zabini smirked with a dark sort of delight.

"Cow," Hermione spat back. She stood, brushed herself up, and sent Pansy a venomous look before walking away.

She reached the last compartment and when she looked through the window; she recognized it to be theirs. Luna was reading the _Quibbler_, and Neville was staring out of window. She slid the door open and greeted them, sat down, rummaged through her things and pulled out _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7._

She was deeply engrossed in Chapter Two when Ron, Harry and Ginny came in, quickly followed by Seamus and Dean. It was a bit of a squeeze, but eventually, everyone managed to get a seat.

Ron, strangely enough, ended up next to Hermione and he gazed at her with a smile on his face. She was absorbed in reading, once again. She looked up, and both of them were aware at how close they were. She smiled back at him and went back to her book.

Seamus, Dean and Harry immediately started up in Quidditch, and Ron joined in almost instantly, Neville taking his cue and joining also. Ginny and Luna looked at each other and leaned forward to talk to Hermione, Luna casting the _Quibbler_ aside.

"Well?" Ginny asked expectantly as Hermione marked her place with an exasperated sigh and placed the book beside her.

"Well, what?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"You and—" and she gave a jerk of her head towards Ron.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Hermione's voice betrayed her immediately, and she winced at the squeak that came out of her own mouth.

"Please," Luna scoffed, sounding unlike her usual mystical self. "And I _don't_ like Neville."

"You like Neville?" Hermione questioned curiously. Luna nodded proudly.

"And he knows it, too." Hermione smiled widely at Luna.

"That's nice."

"Yes, yes, don't change the subject now, Hermione," Ginny said hastily. "You _must_ do something about it! If you and Ron went out it would _perfect!_" Ginny said in a knowing tone, and Luna agreed with an exuberant nod, before going back to her reading.

"Who'd be perfect, now?" Harry asked suddenly, leaning over and looking between the girls with interest.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something about him but Ginny beat her too it.

"Ron and Hermione," Ginny said loudly, causing Ron to look over at the mention of his name, despite the loud talk of Quidditch. The boys slowly stopped talking and looked at Ron and Hermione, grinning.

"What about me?" Ron asked, completely oblivious.

"Don't forget Hermione," Harry said with a wink. Seamus, Dean and Neville all laughed, and both Ron and Hermione looked very uncomfortable.

"Harry, shut up," Ron said, looking away, causing more laughter to ensue.

"Really Ronald, why haven't you asked Hermione to be your girlfriend yet?" Luna asked. She sounded serious and business-like, causing everyone else to snort with laughter and roll around in their seats.

Ron gaped at her.

Hermione sat there, her face slowly becoming hotter, humiliation burning in her eyes and her mind buzzing for some excuse, _any_ excuse to get out of the compartment.

"Err, I've got to patrol; be right back," she said hastily, wrenching open the compartment door and speeding down the hallway, her heart pounding in her throat.

Ginny was sporting a smile when she finally caught up with Hermione, who looked away.

"Leave me alone, Ginny," she mumbled.

"Oh, Hermione, you two are perfect for each other, I've only told you a dozen times now," Ginny said, almost as casually as explaining the weather, leaning against the wall. Hermione continued to walk.

"Yes, but _still_," Hermione muttered, still blushing as Ginny caught up behind her. "That was _extremely_ mortifying."

"Well," Ginny sighed. "I still think you should go out with him. Perhaps then we could double-date!" Ginny said enthusiastically, before rolling her eyes and sighing. "Never mind; Ron would be watching Harry and I the entire time," she said darkly. "And then, he wouldn't pay any attention to you!"

Hermione laughed.

Ginny smiled back, and together they went back to their compartment. Hermione was very nervous. How was she supposed to face Ron after this?

Far too quickly for her liking, they found their compartment again. Ginny slid the door open, gave Hermione a reassuring smile and went in. Hermione calmed her racing heart down with a few deep breaths and went in after her, hoping that she looked confident.

The boys were talking animatedly about Quidditch again, and as she sat down, Ron gave her a nervous smile before turning back to his conversation.

_It'll be alright_, she told herself again. She'd be able to get through the year, maybe with some difficulties, perhaps some awkward moments, but she'd pull through.

Her eyes widened in shock as she felt a tentative hand place itself over her own on the seat. She followed the arm to its owner, and found herself looking at an anxious and nervous Ron. She smiled at him, pleased yet nervous, and he grinned back.

Smiling to herself, she intertwined her fingers in Ron's, catching Harry and Ginny's looks and feeling quite content.

_Maybe this year won't be so bad after all. _

**_-  
-x-x-x-  
-_**

**A/N**: Well, that's the new first chapter! I know that this story will slow down a lot of things, which will be bad, but I really wanted to get this out, because I had a plot bunny in my head and I needed to get it out!

I had this re-beta'd by the wonderful **A ROSESINNOCENCE**, and thanks so much for this!

Anyways, please review!


	2. Here We Are

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter. But I do own this plot, so don't you steal it:)

Also, just to let anyone know in case they want to know, this story is going to start out as Ron/Hermione, and then go into Draco/Hermione. It isn't going to be a triangle, but basically, after an, err, particular event, Hermione just… sees potential in Draco, which would be more than she sees in Ron. I didn't spoil anything, so don't come crying!

Now, I think it may be best if we started this chapter!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter Two--))  
Here We Are

-

_It'll be alright, she told herself again. She'd be able to get through the year, maybe with some difficulties, perhaps some awkward moments, but she'd pull through. _

_Her eyes widened in shock as she felt a tentative hand place itself over her own on the seat. She followed the arm to its owner, and found herself looking at an anxious and nervous Ron. She smiled at him, pleased yet nervous, and he grinned back._

_Smiling to herself, she intertwined her fingers in Ron's, catching Harry and Ginny's looks and feeling quite content._

_Maybe this year won't be so bad after all. _

-_x_-_x_-_x-_

The feast had been better; in fact, it had been better than it ever had.

Dumbledore's speech was enlightening, and although it was short and quick, he, as usual, made his point clearly. Voldemort was on the rise, and like his theme for every speech, he merely said they were strong as they were united, weak as they were apart. She noticed, along with Harry and Ron that his blue eyes turned slightly in their direction. Everyone knew that the Trio would all be playing a part in eradicating Voldemort: it was obvious.

The feast was mouth-watering, and although Hermione was hungry, she was barely eating. She was oblivious to the crowd talking and the noisy gossip floating around as she sat in her seat, her shoulders slightly hunched, a badly suppressed smile on her face. She shifted food around on her plate again, her chest rising with an elated feeling.

Almost immediately after Dumbledore had started his speech, she had felt weight on her foot. She only gave a spare glance under the table, and realized someone's foot was shifted directly on hers. The mystery person was sitting across from her. She had looked up, ready to hiss a complaint, when she saw who it was.

Ron looked back at her, his eyes smiling and nervous. She remembered how her insides had positively melted.

The food moved onto desert, and Ron's foot had shifted slightly, so that the toe of his foot was slightly on her calf. She couldn't help but look up, almost timidly, her cheeks flushed, at him. He wasn't smiling, but he looked happy as he looked back at her. His ears were as red as Hermione's cheeks, and she knew that he was as delighted about it as she was.

When dinner was over, and the students flocked to the Great Hall doors, Hermione parted from Harry, Ron, and Ginny to talk to Dumbledore for a moment. When she reached him, she saw Malfoy talking to him already. She was slightly annoyed that the ferret had beaten her too it, but she waited politely.

Malfoy looked seriously ill, she noted as she stood. His waist was too narrow, his face too thin and with a pale tinge that was unlike his normal skin. He looked weary with the circles under his eyes, as if he had seen too much and only wanted to sleep for all eternity; but then, as she glanced around the hall and then back at him, he was fierce, tense. His body seemed as if it was on alert, even with Dumbledore. He looked too concentrated on the old man's words, as if he wanted to direct his mind away from the thoughts that lingered when he had nothing to do.

Still, any slight pity she felt for him dissolved when he turned, his sharp gaze falling on her, splintered only by the threads of white-blonde hair falling in his eyes. His mouth immediately twisted into a snarl, his eyes narrowed to slits, and he pushed past her, ramming into her petite shoulder with his lean one; she stumbled noticeably. She looked over her shoulder and sneered at his retreating back before rolling her eyes as she looked back to Dumbledore.

The Headmaster had a knowing look on his face accompanied by kind smile as he too watched the ferret retreat behind the other students. Hermione frowned disapprovingly, but said nothing on her part about Malfoy.

"Sir," she said politely when Dumbledore looked inquiringly at her, "I was wondering where the Head Tower might be and how I may access it."

"Ah, yes, Miss Granger. Well, in your common room in the Gryffindor Tower, there is a grandfather clock to the right of the fireplace. Next to that is a portrait of Godric Gryffindor, which appears not to move. If you say _empathy_, Godric will nod slightly and swing forward and let you through.

Now, this works almost like a Fidelius Charm; no one will know about this portrait except for those you tell. You can withdraw this privilege from any person at any time. Also, your door to your bedroom and personal quarters must be opened by your hands, or a password that changes whenever you wish for it. Any questions?" Dumbledore finished.

"No, sir. Thank you," Hermione said, and bid him goodbye and went to find her fellow Gryffindors.

Hermione trotted out of the Great Hall, and, pushing open the doors, she saw the foyer and the main staircase were nearly abandoned. Only a few stragglers were left behind. Smiling slightly as she thought of her quarters, she started up the staircase in a run.

When she had almost reached the seventh floor, she ran, unexpectedly, into Malfoy. She jumped out of the way and nearly fell over as he staggered.

"Mudblood," he spat angrily, glaring at her. "Watch where you're going!"

"Malfoy, what in the name of Merlin are you doing up here?" she asked immediately. "Aren't you supposed to be in the dungeons with the rest of you slimy friends?" Her voice had malice and he sensed it just as easily as anyone else would.

"I'm going to the Head Tower, you filthy little thing, _not_ that it concerns _you_," he spat. And with a disgusted and contemptuous glare, he turned on his heel and continued on his way.

Hermione bent over slowly and picked up her book bag which had fallen to the floor. She watched his thin, lean profile walk down the hallway with an angry briskness. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and, wondering what was making him even more vicious this year, she slung the strap over her shoulder and finished her walk to Gryffindor Tower.

_-x-x-x-_

"Okay, okay, ready?" Hermione asked excitedly.

Harry, Ron and Ginny were all behind her, taut with excitement and jubilation as they waited for Hermione to open the portrait to her quarters. Hermione had not yet entered the Head Tower and she wanted her three best friends with her when she went in.

"Come on, Hermione!"

"Move! Open it!"

"_Please_?"

Hermione grinned at all three of them. She turned and looked up at the portrait of Godric Gryffindor, who had a five o'clock shadow with golden hairs sticking from his chin. He had old-fashion attire on, and all four of them found it rather amusing that his uniform had _very_ puffy sleeves.

"Okay! _Empathy_!" Hermione cried, and they all cringed in excitement.

The portrait nodded subtly and swung open, and they swarmed in.

There was a roaring fire place, bookshelves flanking it, much to Hermione's delight, and two couches with two matching armchairs. To the far left of the room was a swinging door, and then a hallway next to it that ended rather abruptly. And to Hermione's immediate left was a white marble staircase with steps that flowed out like waves beneath her. Ginny gave an excited squeal and started up the steps instantly.

Hermione followed, and then Harry and Ron. Yet, when the boys' feet touched the staircase, a loud shuffling noise echoed the room and Hermione shrieked as she went flying down.

Much to her disappointment, Hermione landed on Harry instead of Ron. Ginny was climbing off of Ron, who looked mildly annoyed.

"Well, that was fun," Ginny said sarcastically as she helped the Head Girl off of Harry.

"Sorry," Hermione said to him. Harry smiled.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Ron for not landing on him instead," Harry joked. Hermione's cheeks burned, and she slapped Harry's arm.

"Boys," she muttered. However, Ginny was smirking at her too.

"So, erm, anyways, let's figure out how to get all of us up this staircase," Hermione said loudly, avoiding all eyes.

She took a step up, and then went all the way to the top and looked down at the four of them.

"Hmm," she said to herself. "Ron, why don't you try taking a few steps up." Ron looked incredulous at Hermione's suggestion.

"Are you joking me? I'll fall to my untimely death!" he said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Harry?"

Hermione raised her eyebrow at the raven-haired boy, who looked quite reluctant. However, one severe look from Ginny and he started to leap up the staircase. Halfway up, the shuffling noise was heard and Harry went flying down the staircase, yelling.

Sprawled out on the floor, Harry grimaced as he got up.

"Is there, err, a less _painful_ way we could do this?" Harry asked, sounding almost sarcastic as Ron lifted him to his feet. Hermione shrugged.

"Would Malfoy know?" Ginny asked. Hermione frowned.

"I dunno. I _could_ ask him, but why would he know? He doesn't have a staircase," Hermione said, not wanting a reason to talk to Malfoy again that night.

"True, but he _may_," Ginny said back, her voice nearly arguing. Hermione sighed.

"Very _well_, I'll give it a go." Letting out an exasperated noise, she dropped down the stairs and made her way to the hallway.

When she stepped through, it was like a curtain of darkness enveloped her. Everything was dim and she could barely make out his doorknob.

"Merlin," she muttered. She stepped forward and started knocking loudly on Malfoy's door.

"Malfoy," she called. She stopped for a second and listened. There was no reply.

"_Malfoy_," she called louder, knocking harder.

"_Malfoy_!"

"WHAT DO YOU _WANT_, YOU BLOODY WENCH?"

He ripped his door open and stepped out, sending her backwards a few steps. She noted reluctantly how intimidating and how scary he looked, as if he was a creature of the night ready to deliver some fatal news. He was seething and his face was twisted in a snarl.

"I, erm—"

"_Well_? Is there a _reason_ you're wasting my precious time, Mudblood?" he snarled at her, taking another dangerous step forward toward her. She gaped at him, suddenly lost for words and feeling fear and awkwardness starting to rise up her in chest.

Like on the train, his imposing and glacial figure towered over her, his eyes glowing silver slits in the darkness of the hallway, his teeth sharp and ready to rip the flesh and the dignity from her body. She could've whimpered but merely tried to control her fear instead.

"Stupid little _creature!_ Don't bother me next time!" he snarled at her, turned and slammed his door rather loudly in her face.

When Hermione came back out to Harry, Ron, and Ginny, all three of them were exchanging glances and looked stunned. She joined the group and looked at them, tension and confusion rising in the blunt silence.

"What's stuck up his arse?" Ron asked, breaking the silence. And like magic, all of them broke into laughter that was boisterous and contagious. None of them could stop.

Ginny sighed and leaned against Harry who was still chuckling with laughter. Hermione grinned at Ron, and the mirth died down.

"So how _do_ we get up the stairs?" Ron asked Hermione. She shrugged.

"I dunno. But we can look at the rest of the Tower before you guys go to bed. Ginny can come and look at my room and give you the details afterwards," Hermione suggested.

"Sounds fine," Harry said. Ron suddenly made a beeline for the swinging door, a curious look on his face. He pushed the ivory colored door open, and looked back at them with a simply delighted look on his face.

"It's a _kitchen_!" he cried in utter glee. In a second, he was in through the door and out of sight.

Harry laughed and followed him. "We'll go look upstairs," Ginny said. He nodded and pushed open the door and started laughing. Joyful statements could be heard from Ron as he looked around, and the two girls laughed.

They bounded up the staircase and stood in front of the door. It had Hermione's initials, _HJG_, carved in it with Gryffindor colors behind them in a shape of a lion. She grabbed the handle and pushed open the door.

The room was large, and had a desk, a dresser and a mirror. It had a bed stand and an enormous bookcase that reached all the way up to the ceiling. Next to it was a large, gothic-style window with a plush scarlet seat beneath it, presumably for reading or doing as she wished.

The bed was pushed against the far wall, and it had a thin, translucent canopy with a dark crimson bedspread and black lined pillows. French doors stood across the room as her closet, and another door that held a mystery, for Hermione hadn't opened it yet.

So Ginny did it for her and yelled in envy. It was a bathroom, with both a stand-up shower and a pool-like tub. The bathroom had a mirror that stretched across a complete wall, and a big marble sink with plenty of counter space. There was also a vanity with four mirrors that shined at each other and had infinite reflections of the room as they bounced off each other.

"Gosh, do I hate you right now," Ginny said, jealously scanning the room. Hermione smiled. "This is the wickedest room."

"Well, then, become Head Girl next year and you _will_ get this," Hermione replied, grinning at the red head. Ginny laughed but shook her head.

"Too much responsibility. I want a _life_, you know," she said. Hermione opened her mouth in mock anger.

"Are you telling me I have no life, Ginevra?" Hermione asked. Ginny shuddered.

"Don't call me that," she said. "I hate it when people call me that." Hermione smirked.

"What about when Harry calls you that?" Hermione asked slyly. Ginny grinned at her.

"I love whatever Harry calls me," Ginny admitted, unblushingly. "But he's yet to say that to me. And don't ask him to," she warned as she saw Hermione hide a mischievous grin.

"I won't," Hermione promised.

"Now, let's go see what those boys are up to," Ginny said as she threw her reflection a glance. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear before exiting the room, Hermione in tow.

When Ginny and Hermione opened the door, they admired the view of the Head Common Room for a moment. Then, Hermione made to go down the staircase but Ginny grabbed her and signaled hurriedly for her to be quiet.

Harry and Ron were sitting on one of the couches, talking just loud enough for the two girls to hear them. The girls backed up and kept their heads outside the door to hear the conversation.

"… but I think I may, tonight," Ron said, sounding nervous. Harry clapped him on the shoulder, smiling.

"Well, it's about time! It's been, what, four or five years? You've kept her this long, say something tonight for sure," Harry agreed. Ron sighed, looking anxious.

"Do you think—?"

"Yes, Ron, she'll say yes. She's your _best mate_ besides me. And I _know_ for a fact that she fancies you! She has for ages and ages!" Harry sounded very exasperated.

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, sounding suspicious.

"Ginny told me," Harry said. Neither boy heard the indignant sound from Ginny and the angry one from Hermione.

"Well, I guess she's a reliable source…" Ron hesitated, unsurely. Ginny flung open the door and stormed down the stairs as both boys whipped around to look at her, their faces guilty.

"Damn right I'm a reliable source!" she shouted angrily. At this, a look of pure horror crossed Harry's face.

"Potter, you will die tonight!" she growled. She grabbed Harry by the wrist, and pulled him across the room to the portrait back into the Gryffindor Common Room. She flung open the portrait and pulled him through, thoroughly reprimanding her boyfriend.

"—can't _believe_ you would tell Ron! I mean, you could've told him but _not_ my name!"

"_I'm sorry_!" Was the last thing heard from Harry as the portrait slammed shut.

Ron sat in silence staring at the painting, and then slowly sank back into the couch, staring into the fire gloomily. He didn't see Hermione descend the stairs rather tentatively.

She stopped right before the couch, looking down at Ron's profile, unseen to him. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as her nerves filled with something she couldn't quite place.

"I feel bad for Harry," she said quietly, and Ron just about jumped a mile in the air.

"Merlin, Hermione, you scared the hell out of me," Ron muttered, his hand over his heart. He slowly turned back to the fire. She laughed softly and moved around and bravely sat down next to him.

_More like on top of him_, she said to herself. She _was_ quite close to him; their elbows brushed one another, and their thighs were touching.

"He'll be begging on his knees for _weeks_," Ron said, looking over at her. Hermione laughed while Ron grinned.

"Well, he really shouldn't have dragged her into it. I mean, that was…" she paused. "Rather stupid," she said bluntly and then sighed.

"But then, we can't expect boys to be experts when it comes to this," Hermione said quietly.

"To what?" he asked her softly. She looked over at him.

He did not look confused in the least. He was staring at her, rather intensely. And she knew suddenly that he had asked her because he wanted his _own_ verification, instead of Harry assuring him because Ginny had told him.

Hermione bit her lip, her heart fluttering and her pulse quick.

"To girls; to dating," she whispered. "The rules… there are so many. They're all so confusing. Half the time, I don't even get them right." She gave him a twisted sort of smile that reflected her nervousness and her reminiscence.

"Well, I haven't dated enough to know the rules fully," she said finally, turning to look back at the fire.

Ron was quiet for a moment, and she knew he was thinking of something clever to say. However, his words shocked her at his implication.

"Would you like to know the rules better, Hermione?"

She was at a loss for words as she looked at him, open mouthed. She stared at him openly, still amazed at how simply his words made an impact on her.

"I mean," he said hastily, "here we are, you and me. I don't know the rules either… it could be, well, the blind leading the blind," he suggested in a whisper. He was inching closer to her, and she wasn't moving as she looked between his eyes, suddenly paralyzed.

"Ron," she whispered suddenly. He was an inch from her parted lips, and his blue eyes flickered up from her mouth to her eyes questioningly.

"What?"

"Are you going to kiss me?" She was surprised at how it poured so easily out of her mouth, but she suddenly flushed scarlet at the stupidity of her inquiry.

"Yes," he whispered firmly. "Yes I am."

And he leaned forward and put his lips to hers. However, they were at such an angle that his caught the corner of her mouth and it was rather messy. They broke apart, and Hermione suddenly let out a laugh before turning and putting her body to his.

"That was bad," Ron said, wiping the saliva off of Hermione's cheek and they both laughed again.

"Let's fix it," she whispered, and he leaned forward again and pressed his lips to hers.

She hesitantly put her hands on his shoulders, still thinking about the feeling of his chapped lips on hers, the moistness that suddenly appeared at he opened his mouth, as she did. Slowly, she closed her eyes and leaned into him and kissed him back quietly, loving how familiar he seemed, and how she felt right at home while kissing him.

_**-  
-x-x-x-  
-**_

**A/N:** Yeah! I loved writing that chapter! T'was very fun!

So, you know this is going to be Ron and Hermione for a little while before she is paired up with Draco. Don't forget it!

Big shout out to **A ROSESINNOCENCE **for beta-ing this for me! It wouldn't be spectacular without you!

Anyways, please **review**!


	3. A Mission to be Considered

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. Just this wonderful plot!

I know a lot of you have mentioned how you didn't particularly enjoy the Hermione/Ron scene; well get used to it because half of Hermione's love life is with Ron before she gets with Draco. If you don't like the bluntly obvious ship in the books or this story, DON'T READ IT THEN.

Forgive me for the extremely long wait for this update. I was busy, and my beta just returned it today.

Now, let's read on!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter Three--))  
A Mission to be Considered

-

Hermione woke the next morning, wondering why on earth she felt so ecstatic_—_so idiotically _happy—_until she remembered her first night in her dorm, and the events it held before she had fallen asleep.

Blushing under the covers, Hermione pressed her face into her warm pillow, trying to stop giggling girlishly and ignore the cold air seeping through the tunnels in her sheets. Finally, knowing that getting Ronald Weasley off of her mind was impossible, she threw back the covers and got ready for her first day.

With an extra hour to get ready, (classes started at 8:30; it was currently 7:30) she took her time lounging in the bath and smiling to herself, contentment washing over her as she sighed over and over.

She had wanted this for _such_ a long time. Ron and Hermione. _Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger_. She could've sent a rocket to the moon and back with all the happiness in her body. Their names sounded _so perfect_ together, and previously they had only been associated together as best friends and the two sidekicks of Harry Potter.

But now… now they would be the perfect couple and have their own publicity without Harry involved. Hermione smiled and sunk deeper into the hot water, thinking that it was going to be wonderful, a fairy-tale, almost. She had waited _forever_ to be with Ron… and now she was.

She opened her eyes, thinking suddenly. Ron had never asked her to be his girlfriend, though strongly implied it. What if—?

_No, Hermione, Ron isn't like that_, Hermione said to herself firmly. Worrying about Ron just using her was _out_ of the question. She knew him to be cruel and vicious sometimes, sweet and loving and firm and loyal, but never, _never_ would he do something as repulsive as that to his Hermione—his best friend, and now (_hopefully_, Hermione thought anxiously) his girlfriend.

Ignoring the knot of worry in her stomach, she dressed herself and made her way down to breakfast.

_-x-x-x-_

_Just go in, just go in_, Hermione kept telling herself, standing nervously in front of the great hall doors.

Ever nerve of her body was ice cold, her hair stood up on her arms and her neck, and her throat closed up with a queasy feeling in her stomach. Quite frankly, she was scared, and very _very _nervous. What if Ron had just been joking around her?

Of course, her common sense and logic assured her differently, and she knew she shouldn't doubt her mind. Her mind was 99.9 right, 99.9 of the time. So, how could she be wrong when she was (literally) always right?

But there was still that twinge of fear in her stomach; she was scared because if she didn't walk the line that she was coming closer to, she didn't know how far she could fall. It could be a scrape off the surface, or a plunge to the middle of the earth. And she had no idea what she was expecting from Ron.

Her cold, clammy hand reached out and touched the doorknob, and reason kicked in. She told herself that even if Ron was going to just have a kiss and leave her, then she could deal with it. She did not know if their friendship could withhold the gap between them if it did, and she didn't want to find out.

She twisted the knob and pushed it forward, revealing the full blast of colors and noises, smells and laughter and the bright faces of everyone as they enjoyed their breakfast. She tentatively took a step forward, and her feet were guiding her, slowly getting faster.

Her eyes were on Ron, her breathing shallow and fast, and her mind racing so fast that she had not a single coherent thought. He was laughing at something Harry was saying; his eyes were lit up, his lips upturned in a grin, his stupid red hair messy and uncombed like it usually was.

She found him more attractive than she usually did as she studied his lean face and the freckled splashed here and there. He was hunched over, his body much too big for him, but fitting him despite it; his shoulders shaking with laughter, the sinew of his arms, his hands, his neck, all moving together gracefully as his mirth filled the air.

She _knew_ she was in love. She had been since second year, and it scared her to death to think how _surreal_ this world was becoming.

She was aware Ron was looking at her, suddenly, and her heart nearly stopped, but started beating faster and faster against her ribcage. The laughter was dying from his face, the lines that had been etched fading, his mouth falling open and his eyes wide.

There was an open seat next to Ron, and the first through to cross her mind was _sit there._

She sat down, (she had _no idea_ how she had done it without dying from lack of breath or from her dangerously beating heart) and turned to him, suddenly aware that the volume of the room was turned up, but washed out. The noises of metal on metal and laughter and gossip echoed in her ears slowly, as if she were millions of light years away. All of it slowly faded as Ron smiled at her, saying nothing, though his expression loving; Hermione found herself melting at his look.

"Morning, Hermione," Harry said from across the table. Ginny was sitting next to him, smirking.

Harry noticed Hermione did not respond, but continued to gaze at Ron next to her, just as he gazed at her, and suddenly Ginny nudged him in the ribs. He looked over at her; she was smirking at him, delight dancing in her eyes.

Hermione was floating on cloud nine, her eyes empty of everything except Ron, her head blank and blissfully unaware of people staring at her. She watched as Ron slowly, very slowly, lifted a hand to her cheek, ran it along her jaw, before grasping behind her neck.

In the next few seconds, she found herself pulled towards him and in heaven, once again. Ron had pushed his lips on hers, smiling onto her mouth just as she was, and sharing the joy that had been waiting to burst forth somehow.

She had no idea how long it lasted, only that with every passing second it kept getting better; he ran a hand through her untamable hair and pulled her closer, shoving her book bag out of the way and together they pressed together.

There was an exchanged of completely ecstasy through them as she wrapped her arms around him, pushing herself to him, wanting to get closer to him to close even the tiniest space. The pull to be near him even more was incredible; she found that almost nothing could pull her away from his lips, from his arms and from his embrace. Except—

There was a tiny, indignant cough from behind them, sniggering laughter, and then the pry of hands on her shoulders. Hermione made a loud, angry noise and clutched onto Ron's shoulders, unaware of who had pulled them apart.

"Shove off!" Ron snarled viciously, just as angry as Hermione was. He paled, whiter than the first snow of winter; Hermione had just about as much color as he did.

"Mr. Weasley, please do _not_ use that tone with me," McGonagall said in a dangerously calm voice. Hermione was wide eyed; she couldn't believe that _McGonagall_ had seen them _snogging_!

There was laughter ringing in her ears, and suddenly Hermione understood that _everyone_ had seen her and Ron kissing like mad! Red with embarrassment, and feeling the desperate need to flee from the room, she hastily took her time-table from McGonagall, snatched her things and positively _fled_ from the hall.

She felt like sobbing as she finally stopped in the (thankfully) empty foyer. She halted in the middle of the hallway, her face in her hands; her knees buckled and she went crashing down, sitting on her knees and desperately resisting the urge to cry.

The sliver of silence was cut again as the doors opened and closed as quickly as they had come. Footsteps echoed, and stopped. She knew it was Ron. She couldn't help it; she let out a strangled, confused wail that was surprisingly short, her shoulders shaking. His hands were on his shoulders, and wrapped around her the next moment. He was whispering to her to calm down; that it was alright, nuzzling her neck and trying to make her feel better.

"That was horrible," she whispered, and then started laughing, almost maniacally. She shifted, and buried her face in his shoulder, welcoming his arms circling her back.

Oh, how she had wanted someone to hold her like that so many times before. She had watched couples, the boys draping their arms over a girl's shoulders, his hand around her waist, looking at her lovingly. She had envied the attention and the love of it all; love, even artificial, was an opportunity to throw cautiousness into the winds and be free and wild and be happy. But no, she had always planned everything, been meticulous about every single detail and deprived herself without the thrill.

But now, oh yes, now she had it. And she wasn't letting it go.

He smoothed over her hair and shushed her, but she had long gone quiet. She was just content sitting there, in his arms with no care or worry in the world.

Except, the most horrible thing happened.

The Great Hall doors opened, and a single person came into the hall and sneered at them.

"Mudblood, stop that disgusting display. You're going to make me vomit," Malfoy spat at them.

Hermione and Ron broke apart and glared at him.

"Go away Malfoy, why don't you kill your father too while you're at it?" Ron snarled right back at him.

Malfoy, if possible, looked even angry, and even more sullen than he had over the past few days. His eyes narrowed, and the little color he had in his face (he looked extremely ill) was gone before Hermione blinked.

Malfoy ripped his eyes viciously from Ron's face and glared at Hermione, who almost instantly recoiled. She was frightened by Malfoy; he was incredibly mean, and it was only the second day of school. It wasn't like before when he had been snotty and a rich brat, but there was real, living malicious anger in him that was displayed to anyone who crossed his path.

"Dumbledore called us for a meeting, Mudblood," he spat, his eyes narrowing. He jerked around and stormed up the corridor and out of sight, leaving Hermione and Ron in the silence which they had been in before Malfoy had interrupted.

"Erm," Hermione said. She looked at Ron. "What's _wrong_ with him?" she asked the red-head in a whisper. He shrugged.

Ron stood, grabbing Hermione's hand and lacing his fingers through his own. She smiled, blushing, and complied as he took her other hand and did the same, pulling her close. There was a rush of blood to her head, through her veins and the overwhelming happiness that hadn't felt before came rushing in.

Malfoy's angry persona was instantly forgotten.

"You know," Ron murmured, the content and adoring look on his face matching Hermione's smile; "I never properly asked you to be my girlfriend last night. I just snogged the daylights out of you."

She laughed and nodded. "I err, agree on that," Hermione said, and giggled. He grinned.

"So, would you do me the honor of being my Mrs.?" he asked, getting down to the floor on his knees, smiling at her innocently.

"All right," Hermione whispered. He stood, smiling softly, and kissed her soundly.

They broke apart after a few minutes, and Hermione was slightly gasping for breath. Ron reached over and smoothed her hair down, and then his own.

Answering Hermione's quizzical look, he answered; "Messy hair is a tell-tale sign of snogging. At least let's tell them before they assume," Ron said, and they laughed.

"Ron," she said, a smirk on her lips. "I think that when we snog inside the great hall, and the whole school sees, it would appear that we were dating, then and there."

"Yeah, so?" Ron said. "I like to spread _true_ gossip about you being my girlfriend."

"And was there any fake gossip?" she asked slyly. He grinned, but didn't answer her.

Lacing their fingers together, they headed into the great hall, where they knew they would be supported by all their peers.

_-x-x-x-_

Hermione nervously walked up to Dumbledore's office, wringing her hands. It was the second day, and she hadn't done anything except snog Ron in the great hall. But that couldn't _possibly_ get her in trouble, could it?

Maybe he just wanted to talk to her about her studies, and get some things figured out for her, so that she could excel even more academically. She remembered her third year, and Dumbledore had talked to her a great number of times about her Time-Turner. Would this be similar?

_But I haven't a Time-Turner this year_, she thought, her eyebrows knitted. So then _what_ was this meeting for anyways?

She managed to decide, in the end, that it was just an overview of her Head Girl responsibility. She could only hope it was something as light hearted as that.

She reached the final corridor, and walked down the stone walkway, stopping in front of the spiral stairway. It was already open for access, and she guessed that Malfoy had already made his way up to the office.

She banged the Griffin knocker a few times, and the low voices that were speaking stopped for a moment. "Enter," came Dumbledore's old, gentle voice.

Malfoy _was_ already there, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was extremely uncomfortable in Dumbledore's office, and it seemed like all he wanted to do was sink into his chair and positively disappear forever.

Hermione sat down tentatively, and acknowledged the Headmaster politely. "Hello Headmaster," she said. "Malfoy told me we had a meeting."

Malfoy let out a little scoff and something that sounded suspiciously like, "Well _obviously_."

"Indeed I did, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, casting Malfoy a rather amused look. "I called you so I could give you a brief overview of the year's events, and your responsibilities as Head Boy and Girl." Hermione visibly relaxed with relief. So she _had_ been right all along.

Dumbledore did not beat around the bush, and simply started explaining to them what they had to do. Despite previous years, and rumors, there was to be no Halloween dance, no Christmas dance, no dances at all. The only celebration they were having was for those staying for Christmas, and they were to organize that. Though it took place every year, Hermione and Malfoy had to instruct the prefects and lend a hand whenever needed for decorations, because they had to organize a few things.

It was easily done, really. She and Malfoy just had to tune the fine details of events teacher's handed them, possibly supply a few ideas to the prefects, and be role models, all while maintaining a very good academic average. For Hermione, it would be done with wit and time to spare. But as for Malfoy…

Hermione cast her opposite a glance, frowning. It was scary how ill he looked; his skin was grey, lined with age, despite the fact that he was merely seventeen. His hair was lank and the circles under his eyes were deep. His cheeks were hollowed, and she suspected it from lack of food, which he should eat once in a while. His body was too lean, and she didn't have to watch him to know that his cloths hung loosely on his frame.

Hermione and Malfoy were both dismissed, but the Headmaster stopped both of them as they were walking out the door. "Mister Malfoy, you can leave. I would like a word with you, though, Miss Granger."

_Oh no, this is what I knew was coming! He's going to tell me some terrible news like_—_like I failed my exams!_ Hermione had momentarily forgotten that she hadn't taken exams yet. It was still September, and not even a week into her school year.

Hermione's breath immediately began to quicken, and terrible thoughts were racing through her head. What ever could she have done to deserve this? She had done nothing!

"Headmaster," she said quickly, "please, I-I didn't mean to—to do such an open display of affection; it—it just _happened_," she sputtered. "And I-I didn't—"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted gently.

"Yes?" she asked, just as cautiously as she had started.

"You are not in here with me because you're in trouble; you're in here because I just wished to have a more personal word with you," he explained.

"Oh," Hermione mumbled, feeling extremely embarrassed all of a sudden.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm going to give you an assignment that will fall over the complete course of your seventh year. Only you shall receive it, and not Mister Malfoy. I think that, under these, uh, _circumstances_, you would be best in this area, and I have complete confidence that you can accomplish this task for me."

Hermione was bemused, but pleased nevertheless. "All right, sir. But what shall I be doing, exactly?"

To her surprise, he let out a sigh of anxiousness, and got up from his seat. He walked over to the window, peering in the view of the grounds. Hermione suspected that he was thinking of how to put this task, this _mission_, into words to fit his fancy. He seemed almost worried by it. He drew in a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back, and started speaking, not turning to look at her.

"Over the summer, Miss Granger, I am sure that you are aware of the events that had unfolded. The murder of Narcissa Malfoy, as well as a select few other pureblooded relatives of theirs, sent the news into a hectic mess. Today, citizens are not surprised by death, but they were shocked at the age and identity of the murderer." Dumbledore turned around and looked at her, and she understood what he was talking about.

"I am not about to tell you what Mister Malfoy has confided me in, Miss Granger, but simply that there was enough evidence to take him out of Azkaban. However, there are still suspicions among the Wizarding world that Draco Malfoy did indeed kill his mother. He is innocent until proven guilty, Miss Granger, but the rest of the world still believes he should be in prison." She was met with a tense silence after this as Dumbledore turned and faced the grounds again.

"Do you believe whatever he told you, Headmaster?" she asked cautiously.

"I do, and with full trust," Dumbledore answered without the slightest pause.

Hermione was unsure of what to say, but the Headmaster turned and continued to speak. "I was convinced myself that Draco had been framed to have killed his mother, but he assured me that he did kill his mother," Dumbledore said solemnly. He sat down at his desk, folding his fingers together and looking at her closely.

"I'm sure you have noticed, despite the fact that we are hardly a week into September, that Draco Malfoy has been particularly angry?" Hermione had to contain a snort. He wasn't angry, he was _murderous_!

"Yes," Hermione said, slightly confused.

Dumbledore nodded. "My mission for you to consider, Miss Granger, is to find out exactly why. Draco _did_ love his mother very much, and the death of any parent can send one reeling into misery. But ponder this, Miss Granger: if Draco is, in fact, the murderer of his mother, why is he crueler?"

"Because…" Hermione started slowly, putting pieces together in her head. "Because he loved his mother, but he killed her anyways. People are afraid of him now, and he probably doesn't enjoy that all too much." Hermione paused, another thought occurring. "Professor, but _why_ is he in school, and not in Azkaban, when he killed his mother? He assured you that he did kill her, but there was evidence that he was innocent. How is this possible?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, sounding wise. "We have treaded onto ground that I cannot reveal, for they are Draco's words that will leave my mouth, and not my own. I cannot give you my explanation that I presented to the very small, very select, group of wizards that were present in the Wizengamot."

"I apologize, sir," Hermione said quickly.

"Do not be sorry, Miss Granger. You were merely curious. It is a natural state of mind, and must be exercised with caution," he said venerably. Hermione nodded slowly.

"All right." She stopped and thought another moment. "There must've been some kind of… accident," she said softly. He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching. "He must've killed his mother, but not purposely. He must be subject to the fact that he killed his mother even though he loved her," she said, comprehension dawning.

Dumbledore did not nod, but merely looked at her. "Mister Malfoy only revealed the most important details of what happened. There is something deeply troubling him, and I would like it for you to find out the finest details the night of the murder. You need to find out what is troubling him, and what, or _who_, has done so to him," he instructed.

She nodded, still thinking. "May I ask you something?" she said delicately. He smiled gently.

"Another question would be accepted," he said, and she blushed a little.

"Was there another person present the night she was murdered, sir?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore looked quite sober, his eyes clouding over. "I do not know, Miss Granger. Although I am sufficiently skilled in Legilimency, Mister Malfoy is very accomplished in Occlumency, so there was no way to tell exactly what he was thinking that moment.

"It _could_ be possible, Miss Granger, but he would not tell me. He merely stated what he had to, and when I understood as best I could on the crude information he gave me, there was a way to allow him to continue his education." He sighed, and looked at his papers for a moment.

"So, Miss Granger, your mission is to find out every detail, and help him to relieve himself of his troubles. As you can see, they've already started to eat away at him, and it isn't helping him at all," he said quietly. Hermione nodded and stood to leave.

"This," he said sternly as she reached for the door; "is to be a completely secret task of yours. I'm sorry about this, but I am forbidding you to tell Mister Potter or Mister Weasley, or anyone for that matter. They would not understand what I am asking you to do, and even if they did, you would be subject to their ridicule."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Dumbledore interrupted her instantly. "I know of the feud between the three of them. Draco dislikes young Harry and Ron for their fame, for their close friendship. But he dislikes you because you are associated with them, and because, of course, your blood."

Hermione was stunned that Dumbledore knew this information. But then, he was Dumbledore. He knew every secret of the castle, of every person, of every fiber of being.

He smiled gently at her, his eyes twinkling. "I can assure you, Miss Granger, this will not be an easy task. Mister Malfoy is going to put you through the worst of what he can to keep you away. However, it is astounding what unconditional care can do for one person," he said softly, and he winked at her.

Hermione frowned a little, worried. "If—if I need, erm, _reassurance_, may I speak with Ginny Weasley about this? She's my closest friend, and—and…" Her voice faded away into uncertainty.

Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Weasley can know, and her alone. However, do not discuss this into the night with her; only brief frustration is to be vented, and if you're unsure of what to do, she may help. I am as stern as this because it would wiser, much _safer_, to keep her knowledge of this at bay. What I'm asking you to do, Miss Granger, is going to wear you down, bring you to tears, have you worried up late at night. It may have you open to many dangerous things, but I have courage in you."

Hermione nodded after a moment, hesitating before she bid the Headmaster goodbye and stepped back down the spiral staircase.

Her head pounded with all this newly acquired information and she wondered how on _earth_ she was going to be able to keep her oath of secrecy and not tell anyone… besides Ginny. But Ginny knew almost everything… except her Time-Turner. But she had been under penalty of _law_ if she said anything to anyone. This was merely penalty of the Headmaster.

_But that's still pretty much the same thing_, Hermione thought with a worried sigh.

_-x-x-x-_

"So what did Dumbledore want?" Ron asked Hermione at lunch. He had his arm around her neck, and despite the fact that people were congratulating them, his ears were still red at this display of affection.

"Just to fill me in on the overview of Head Girl duties," she said, a faint smile on her face. Her eyes were drawn to Malfoy, however, as she thought constantly of the information Dumbledore had given her—and how mad Malfoy would be if he ever found out.

"That's it?" Ginny asked her form across the table.

"Yeah, that's it," Hermione said, rather distantly. She was staring at Malfoy, wondering, _wondering_ what had happened that night.

Ginny looked at her funny, and then turned around to peer at whoever Hermione was staring at. She saw Malfoy, looking lonely and angry, glaring daggers at the food he was pushing around on his plate. He shoved the dish away from him, and slung his bag over his shoulder and left the hall.

When Ginny turned, Hermione's eyes were still following Malfoy, but her eyebrows were furrowed.

"Hermione," Ginny said strangely. Her auburn eyes snapped to Ginny's face.

"Hmm?" Hermione hummed.

"I need to ask you a question about one of the books I've read," Ginny invented wildly. Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Oh sure! Which one?"

"Erm, come to the loo with me, and I'll tell you about it," Ginny said, snatching her stuff.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks at the red-head's words, but Hermione had a look of sudden understanding on her face. She removed Ron's arm from her neck, and gathered her things quickly.

"Yes, all right, the loo sounds fine. Let's go," Hermione agreed quickly. She and Ginny rushed out of the hall, their heads together.

"Did we just miss something?" Harry asked Ron. Ron shrugged and continued eating.

"What was that?" Ginny hissed as soon as the girls were close enough to whisper.

"Do you mean about Malfoy?" Hermione asked. Ginny nodded quickly. Hermione looked around, and dragged her into the hall before she explained anything.

Her words were simple, details rare, and when Hermione was finished speaking, Ginny looked confused.

"So… so he wants you to, what, melt his heart?" Ginny asked, bemused.

"Figuratively, yes. But not like that. He wants me to 'relieve him of his troubles' and get details," Hermione explained.

"And _why_ couldn't he do this himself?" Ginny inquired, sounding rather sardonic.

"Because I _live_ in the same dormitory as Malfoy, and females have enough brains to find the crack in the porcelain," Hermione replied.

"Find the _what_?" Ginny asked. Hermione rolled her eyes a bit.

"Never mind, it's a Muggle thing."

The two girls went back into the hall. Right before they broke apart at the head of the table, Ginny grabbed her arm.

"It's funny," Ginny drawled; "You're dating my brother… and yet you have to melt the heart of another man." She smirked.

Hermione scowled. "Oh you! Shut it!"

And laughing, Ginny skipped down the table and sat next to Harry, while Ron looked up and smiled at her.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat; smiling blushingly, she followed Ginny's lead and sat down with two of her best friends, and her boyfriend. All thoughts of Malfoy were swept from her mind.

But they would soon haunt her through her sleep.

_**-  
-x-x-x-  
-**_

**Author's Notes:** Well, I hope you liked it. There is the beginning of why Draco is so fricken pissed off, and what Hermione will have to do. Ron and Hermione will be **very** affectionate in the upcoming chapters, so forgive me, those of you who are reading for the Draco/Hermione part, but that ship is coming _waay_ later.

Also, the excitement begins next chapter! She and Draco will have a, well, a sort of fight. But that's not what I'm trying to explain. It's… something else. –Evil grin-

Thank you **A ROSES INNOCENCE for betaing this for me!**

So thanks to all who reviewed! All questions will be answered in time! But only if you **review please** this time too!


	4. A Hard Realization

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, just this plot!

Hmm, well I just wanna say sorry for the lack of updates! Crazy here, but hopefully, as summer rolls in, everything will flourish! So enjoy!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter Four--))  
A Hard Realization 

-

_And laughing, Ginny skipped down the table and sat next to Harry, while Ron looked up and smiled at her._

_Hermione's heart skipped a beat; smiling blushingly, she followed Ginny's lead and sat down with two of her best friends and her boyfriend. All thoughts of Malfoy were swept from her mind._

_But they would soon haunt her through her sleep._

Ginny and Hermione both shared this secret, and although Hermione was glad to have a companion that she could discuss this 'Malfoy Mission' with, it still bothered her. Hermione hadn't really thought about how to extract any information from Malfoy, but at the thought of it, it seemed impossible.

However, all thoughts of him dissipated in a moment when she found her seat next to Ron. Luckily, the boys hadn't noticed (or remembered, or _cared_ for that matter) the little Girl Intuition moment Hermione and Ginny had shared. Or, if they did, they hid the recognition quite cleverly.

Hermione slid in the bench next to Ron and smiled happily at him. He returned it, but awkwardly so. She noticed in a moment that his ears were red, and suddenly she was aware that the majority of the Gryffindor's were sniggering. She looked around, and Ginny seemed to notice this too.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked Hermione. Both females turned their eyes to Harry, who seemed like he was more able to talk than Ron, at the moment. Said boy was sinking in his seat, his face and ears burning up and rivaling the color of his hair; Gryffindors, mostly boys, were pointing and snickering.

Harry beckoned Hermione and Ginny closer, and they leaned in. "He was telling them how he asked out Hermione, how he fancied her, and now everyone is making a fool out of him. I tried to tell them to piss off, and I told him those arses don't matter, but now it's all of his other mates too!"

"Well that's unfair," Hermione said. "I mean, plenty of boys take an affectionate or romantic sort of route when they ask out the girls they fancy. It's more appealing to females."

"Yes, but Hermione, you don't understand men at all," Harry said. Ginny looked like she was fighting the urge to smirk or to smile.

"Yes I do!" Hermione argued.

"No, Hermione, you don't." This time it was Ginny intervening. "It's like you and Quidditch. _You don't understand the game_."

"That was a nice metaphor, Gin," Harry commented.

"Why thank you Mr. Potter."

Hermione scowled. "I do know what I'm doing!"

"That's not what Ron said," Harry said dryly. Hermione cast an aggravated look at said boyfriend, who was still sinking into his seat. He looked up at the mention of his name.

"What?" he asked miserably.

"Honestly Ron, _ignore them_. They take pleasure in the fact that their words affect you!"

"Stick and stones may break my bones, but hexes will hurt me faster," he snapped. She raised an eyebrow at the distorted nursery rhyme.

"Ron," she started, but he let out a huff of indignation and clearly she could see his pride was deeply wounded.

"Just _don't_, Hermione." He made to get his things and pack up to leave, and Hermione gaped at him.

Before he could make another move, Hermione grabbed his shoulder and put her lips against his ear.

"Don't let them get to you. Look at this: they've already made us quarrel, and just a quarter of an hour ago we were _snogging_. Ron, don't _do_ this," she breathed pleadingly in his ear.

When she pulled back, his blue eyes were guilty, but bright. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I suppose," he grumbled. She smiled faintly.

"Sorry about what? Being a poof when you have a girlfriend?"

The comment was made by someone that Hermione did not take time to recognize. In a flash, Harry had gotten his wand, Ginny beating him to it, and Hermione had successfully dragged Ron out of the hall and out of the messy situation.

_-x-x-x-_

"What's next, what's next…? _Potions_." Ron cursed loudly, and Hermione gave a little roll of her eyes.

"With Slytherins?" she asked quietly.

"Who else?" Ron asked, folding his timetable and putting it in his robe pocket. "There's no one else for Snape to torture us with."

Ron and Hermione were the first and only students outside the Potions room. They looked at each other, and suddenly the air was thick with tension. Hermione knew that, most likely, without the jeering of his fellow Gryffindors that had happened previously, he would've made a move to kiss her.

"Ron," she said hesitantly. "Why did you get so upset when they said all of those things?" Okay, perhaps kissing him might've been better than the conversation that she just put between them. This, she noticed, made him tense up and made things seem terribly awkward.

He gave a stiff shrug. "I dunno," he mumbled. He looked up at her reluctantly, and she gave him a look. "Pride."

"For telling the truth?" she asked softly. He nodded, after a moment. She let out a scoff. "You know, that is just _pathetic_," she complained. A look of panic crossed his face.

"In retrospect, _I_ think that the way you asked me out, rather the night before, was much more original and romantic than just a plain 'will you be my girlfriend?' Really, if you rounded up the boys that actually _did_ have girls, then they would _all_ be on your side, I _guarantee_." She had nearly poked him in the chest with a defiant finger as she declared all of this.

He looked uncertain for words, so he remained silent. She nodded triumphantly.

By now people had started leaving the Great Hall, and Slytherins and Gryffindors had filed down the hallway slowly, each splitting and leaving to their respectable, and distanced, places.

When the whole class had assembled, Snape slammed open the door, and the doorknob laded square on Neville's stomach, who yelped. Snape threw him a look of contempt, and beckoning the Slytherin's first, they all filed in.

Ron was unhappy to part with her for obvious reasons, partly because she was a genius, but she insisted that she sit with Neville so she could help him.

Professor Snape seemed to be a very bad mood, and he clearly wanted to thrash out—especially against the Gryffindors.

"Listen up, you imbeciles!" he snapped at the class. Any whispered conversations that had been happening stopped immediately. "Today you'll start working on a potion that takes a week to complete. It is essential that you pay attention, because it is _more than likely_ this will appear on exams."

At the mention of the exams, Hermione straightened in her seat immediately.

"Madam Pomfrey has requested that because the Quidditch season will be coming up, that she acquire a larger stock of her healing potions. _Healing_ is an imperative skill to be able to survive in the Wizarding world, and because of this, the course of this year will be based on healing potions, most of which will go to Madam Pomfrey. Or, the rare few that manage _not_ to blow their cauldrons to smithereens."

Snape stared coldly at Neville, who shrunk in his seat, terrified.

"Copy down the notes on the board, and by the time this class ends, your potion will be a dull blue and very thin. _Go_!"

The class scrambled, and Hermione, although annoyed at having to wait in line, secretly thought that this term of Potions class would be alright. It _was_ good to know these basic healing things, and who knew? Maybe they _would_ come in handy for Hermione later on.

_-x-x-x-_

At dinner, Professor McGonagall summoned Hermione and Malfoy from the stream of hungry students. She instructed them to tell the prefects of their house of the small Christmas celebration, and to spread the word through Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hermione was attentive and ready to do this, but as she cast a glance at Malfoy, she knew that he was _not_.

Malfoy looked _terrible_. His skin was gray, oily and paler than it had ever been. His hair was flat and mussed, and the wearing lines that dug under his eyes were darker than she had ever seen. His scar still stood out hauntingly, but it was not a sign of anger and danger as it had first been. Now, as she looked over Malfoy once again, she could tell that this boy was exhausted, and not a part of him breathed with life anymore.

When the Professor was done, Hermione waited around to talk to the Headmaster for a moment, but her eyes were following Malfoy out of the Great Hall. His shoulders were broad, but the abnormally small shirt hung loose on him, his movements slow and fatigued, and his body hunched over and weary. He left the hall without speaking to anyone, and without grabbing a bite to eat.

_That's unhealthy_, Hermione thought, mouth frowning in immediate concern.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore inquired, catching Hermione off-guard. She started for a moment, and then came to her senses.

"Professor, I was wondering about the staircase that leads up to my room," she said.

"Oh, what about it?"

"How am I supposed to fix it so it will allow boys up?" Hermione realized a moment after she said it how badly interpreted her statement could be. "I mean," she said quickly, blushing furiously; "Harry or Ron."

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "Friendship is a great thing, and what you share with those boys is completely understandable," he said knowledgably. She nodded. "All you must do is knock on the right banister three times, and that is all."

"Thank you Professor," Hermione said graciously. Ron and Harry would be very envious of her room when she allowed them to see it, finally.

When she went to turn away, Dumbledore stopped her. "Miss Granger, I was wondering if has there been any progression in the task I had given you?"

"Not yet, sir. I plan on doing several things before I do, but perhaps I should check in with things once a week or so?" she said, uncertain of what she should do.

"Oh no, that won't be necessary. I was just wondering, is all," he said, not unkindly. With a friendly smile, he nodded to her dismissal, and she went to enjoy her dinner.

Hermione slid into the bench next to Harry, across from Ron, and it seemed the two boys were deep in a conversation that was entirely serious.

"What's up?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice. Harry looked at her, then exchanged glances with Ron.

"It's nothing Hermione, but I…" Harry faltered and looked a bit guilty.

"But you _what_, Harry?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

He let his head drop into his hands, and his fingers grazed over his hairline, and sketched his scar for a moment. Somehow, in an instant, she knew what was wrong.

"This summer, I um, had a few dreams about Voldemort." He said this very quietly, and he looked at neither Ron nor Hermione.

"_Harry_!" Hermione hissed. "Did you plan on _telling_ us? Or even _Dumbledore_? _Any_ of the Order members?"

"I didn't think they really meant anything," he mumbled. Hermione made a noise, but Ron shushed her. "I mean, I know there must be _something_ happening for his emotion's to be so strong that they leak through to me, but honestly Hermione, they were nothing special."

"What were they about?" she questioned immediately.

"I won't say here," he said in a low voice, casting a wary glance around. "But later, perhaps tonight in your Tower, Hermione. If we can't go into your room, then we'll just silence everything so Malfoy can't overhear."

"No, I found out how to get you and Ron up the staircase. I'll tell you after," she said. Harry nodded, and looked at Ron again.

"D'you think," Ron started; "I mean, after all those murders and things, that Malfoy killed off more people than just his mother?" It was unclear to whom he was directing this question to.

"No!" Hermione said fiercely, and both boys looked a bit confused. Harry had a shred of suspicion in his eyes, but they were gone as soon as Hermione justified herself.

"I don't know exactly what happened when Malfoy killed his mum, but I don't think he was capable of the Killing Curse. If he isn't, then how is he supposed to kill off more people for Voldemort?"

"Well I didn't mean _directly_ all the time," Ron said. "He could've, you know, been the one strategizing or something."

"I don't think that's possible either. Not _Draco_ Malfoy, anyways," Hermione answered thoughtfully, now pulling food onto her plate. "Where's Ginny?" she asked suddenly. "She ought to be here for this conversation."

"With Luna, giving her help on Transfiguration homework, I think," Harry answered. "And we'll fill her in later."

Harry was quiet for a moment, and both Hermione and Ron were waiting for him to resume speaking.

"What about his dad, Hermione?" Harry asked finally.

"Lucius has been on the run too long, I would think," Ron said, taking Hermione's silence as an opportunity to speak. "He wouldn't be able to sit in one place for too long, and killing someone would attract too much attention."

"I don't really know," Hermione mused, scratching her chin. "No one's really seen him since the end of our fifth year, and I don't even think Malfoy has seen his dad. Maybe—" Hermione broke off suddenly.

"Maybe what?" Harry said quickly. He saw Hermione's face distant with concentration and dawning realization.

"He never considered… maybe _that's_ why he's so unhappy… Oh, _where_ is Ginny?" And Hermione picked up her things and rushed off before the boys could get another two words out of her.

"I _hate_ it when she does that," Ron said. Harry smirked a bit.

"Well, she's _your_ girlfriend, you'll have to deal with that from now on."

Ron rolled his eyes and continued eating, but the glow in his ears and cheeks sent a different message.

_-x-x-x-_

"Luna Lovegood: where is she?" Hermione asked quickly, stumbling over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Library," called out on of Luna's few friends. "She's with Ginny Weasley."

_Yes!_ was Hermione's immediate thought, and she gave a quick thanks and rushed off again, hardly having eaten any supper.

Hermione, after much panting but steely determination, made it to the library. She pushed open the huge doors, greeted Madam Pince, and set out in search for Ginny and Luna.

When she found them, Ginny was waving her wand over a feather quill, (repeating the wrong spell, Hermione assumed) and looking quite frustrated. After a moment, the redhead gave up, leaving Luna looking a tad crestfallen as she cried: "_Where_ is Hermione when you need her?"

"At dinner, I suppose," Luna answered at once, her voice dreamy.

"Quite the contrary," Hermione said, coming out from behind the shelves and sitting down at the table.

"Speak of the Devil," Ginny said, grinning.

"What's this you need help on, Luna?" Hermione asked hurriedly. "Sorry, but I need to steal Ginny so I decided I'd take over and help; from what I could see, Ginny couldn't manage the incantation."

Ginny scowled, and Luna smiled good-naturedly. "I needed to turn this into a rodent of some type. McGonagall didn't clarify which, but she said to do it and take down the effects of what happened the first time for our essay."

"Oh, that's easy," Hermione said, supplying the charm at once. Luna did the incantation, and her white feather turned into a little hamster like creature.

"Excellent! Thanks Hermione!" Luna said dreamily, cooing over her hamster.

"Good. Ginny, let's go," and Hermione latched onto Ginny and dragged her out of the library, filling her in with the thoughts of the Malfoys and what they could mean in the hallway.

"No, Hermione, I don't think that's possible," Ginny told her after Hermione had finished her theory. "If _Lucius_ had been the one to kill Malfoy's mum, they would've known it."

"It's not _entirely_ impossible for Lucius to get away with it though," Hermione argued back. "He could've used Malfoy's wand instead, leaving his son to look guilty."

"True, but didn't you say that Dumbledore said that _Malfoy_ said he killed his mum?" Ginny inquired, and then put a hand to her forehead. "That was like gossip with Lavender and Parvati!"

Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore! I'd forgotten about that."

Ginny's face lit up. "I know what we need to do. Come with me," Ginny beckoned, running in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

_-x-x-x-_

"What are _these_ for?" Hermione asked, half suspicious and half curious. Ginny was holding out two journals: one blue, and one black.

"One is for your personal daily recordings, which you don't have to do, and the other is to keep track of information about Malfoy. I mean, you've forgotten one little fact, so you should record happenings and precious information so you don't forget."

"That was quite a stroke of brilliance, Ginny," Hermione commented, taking the journals and putting them away in her bag. "You should have them more often."

"It also crossed my mind that you should do something to ensure the security and safety of it. Chances are, with you on his case, Malfoy is going to be very angry and will do anything to put you at bay, which may include him hoarding your personal belongings as threats," Ginny explained, now lowering her voice as people began to enter the common room.

"Another good stroke of genius," Hermione pointed out, beaming. "I think I know _just_ the thing to put on these journals, or at least one of them to make sure they're going to be safe for always. You just wait."

"There they are!" came Harry's voice. He and Ron suddenly appeared beside the girls. "Why weren't you guys at dinner? And Hermione, why did you just up and leave like that?"

"None of your business," Ginny said quite firmly. Ron raised an eyebrow, and Harry gave both girls a calculating look.

"I don't know what you're up too," he started, sounding wary.

"It concerns neither of you," Hermione said, looking between her two male friends. "Now, shall we fill Ginny in?" The boys nodded, and the other Weasley looked confused.

"What?"

"Never mind, let's go and I'll tell you in a moment."

Hermione guided them through the portrait into the silence that was eerie compared to the Gryffindor common room that was always bursting with life. The four of them went automatically to the sofas and cushions crowding around the fire, and Harry and Ron began to talk to Ginny rapidly.

"Gin, I had a couple of dreams over the summer… about Voldemort," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"_Why_ didn't you tell me? Or _anyone_?" she asked shrilly. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"They didn't seem so important."

"Okay, whatever. Just tell us now what they were about, if you don't mind," Ginny said impatiently.

"Alright," Harry agreed. He paused for a moment, trying to fit these dreams into words, before speaking slowly. "The first… the first was about… Grimmauld Place. Something inside of it, I… I really can't remember. Voldemort wasn't there," Harry explained hastily to the looks of horror and panic that had crossed the girls faces; "but he was probing someone's mind who had been there… they were—they were looking for—for…" Harry couldn't put it into words, and he looked quite frustrated about it.

"I-I don't.. I can't…" He looked like he couldn't even finish his sentence. By now, Ginny was urging him to move onto the next, but when he did, he looked regretful, sour almost about something.

"A Malfoy was there. I couldn't tell which… Junior here—" He jerked his head at Malfoy's door— "Or his dad or his mum. One of the three. All I could remember was seeing them kneel… a lot of people were around them, and two others were dueling, but everything was just a _mess_. Someone got killed," Harry said, kneading his forehead.

"Andromeda," Harry blurted out suddenly.

"What?" Hermione asked, worried. Ginny and Ron shushed her. Harry pressed his fingers into his forehead.

"They wanted… in Grimmauld Place… she knew, I think… she _had_ it… Gods, why can't I remember?" Harry cried.

"It's alright, Harry," Ginny said softly. "We can go to Dumbledore later tomorrow or this week and he can help, I'm sure."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed. "You know him, he's always got the right ideas."

"Not always," Hermione argued softly. Ron and Harry looked confused, but Ginny seemed to sense where Hermione was heading and quickly shook her head. Hermione dropped her gaze with a nod. "He just can't answer everything with the most perfect answer. A lot of things… he can't explain them either." And of course, she was talking about Narcissa's death and Malfoy's participation.

"Well, that's not really true," Ron started to say, but Harry cut him off.

"She's right," he concurred quietly. "He doesn't know where the Death Eaters are, or Lucius Malfoy, or if Lucius is even alive anymore. None of the Order knows, not even Snape."

"Is he still even at large to the public?" Ginny asked. Ron shrugged.

"He's been out of jail since last May, but he just…" He looked around, and all four of them whispered: "Disappeared."

And so many other lost souls had too. There had been _gruesome_, horrible murders that summer. Some of them could be explained, while many others couldn't. The media was in a frenzy, and things at the Ministry were still crazy and disorganized, selling the wrong facts as usual.

"Which leads us to something else that's important," Harry said. Hermione, knowing that Harry was going to start talking about Lucius Malfoy and anything illegal and particular murders he might've committed, she took the cue to tune out and think, having partaken in this conversation earlier.

Hermione relaxed against the soft armchair she was in and gazed into the flames, shadows flicking across her vision and through the room. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the fatigue creep over her senses, but forced her eyes open. She needed to think. Her eyes wandered to the darkened hallway that led to Malfoy's quarters, and yet again, her mind started roaming.

What _happened_ over the summer? What had caused the horrible murder and devastating tragedy? It was obvious Malfoy was dealing with this in a terrible way—lack of sleep, eating disorders, rapid mood swings, perhaps even depression—and it was worse that he was dealing with it all _alone_. The thought of having to bear that weight while the rest of the world mocked and jeered at him for murdering his mother was an unbearable and impossible thought to Hermione.

It made her resolve that Dumbledore was the smartest man alive, for if he hadn't assigned this task to her, she might've just taken it on by herself.

Firelight was dancing, but a second later it pooled into the darkened hallway as Ron grabbed the smallest armchair and tugged it closer so talking to Ginny would be easier. She listened to fractions of their conversations, but all the while staring at Malfoy's door, thinking.

"No, that's absurd, Ginny. You remember what dad said about Lucius Malfoy and all of the other Death Eaters…" Ron's voice trickled into her brain for only a moment before it was shoved out again rather abruptly as something quite startling entered her mind.

At the mention of Lucius Malfoy, slowly, ever so slowly, Malfoy's doorknob began to twist, and the door opened just a crack. A sliver of Draco Malfoy's thin body could be seen, illuminated strangely by the firelight.

But his eyes were gleaming, brighter and angrier than she had ever seen them, and suddenly the silver daggers were glaring right back into her own eyes. Narrowed, haunting and dangerous looking, they burned into her soul and she felt terrified.

She gasped suddenly and stood up swiftly; Malfoy was listening, and he was _watching_ her.

"_Stop!_" she cried. They all looked at her as if she were a creature from another planet. "Up to my room!"

_Malfoy!_ she mouthed to her friends, jerking her head in the direction of his quarters, and suddenly, they all got the idea and stood up. Rushing over to the staircase, Hermione knocked on the right banister three times, and there was a solidifying sound.

Harry cautiously put a foot on the first step, and when it remained solid, all four of them fled up the stairs and piled into Hermione's room after she had grabbed the doorknob for them. She slammed the door, heart pounding against her ribcage, and locked it, silenced it and several other charms in her panicking haste.

She let her back fall in a great slump as she heaved in and out, propped heavily against the door. The three others looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head, still gasping for air.

"Malfoy—was—there—listening—" She started coughing spasmodically, and Ron guided her to her bed to sit with an arm around her shoulders. When she was better, his arm subtly lowered to her waist.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, pulling the chair from Hermione's vanity and sitting in front. Harry moved behind her, running his hands along the back of the chestnut chair and looking between the two girls in apprehension.

"You were talking about Lucius Malfoy, and—and Malfoy's door opened. And I saw him. He looked—" She broke off and started to gesticulate. "_Terrifying_. I can't really explain it."

"And he saw us?" Ginny questioned. Hermione shook her head.

"_Heard_ us. There wasn't any noise coming from his rooms, and you three were talking, arguing so loudly, I suppose, that he must've heard your voices, listened, and became angry when you mentioned his father and the Death Eaters. It makes sense," Hermione explained, her fear subsiding and her logic and curiosity setting back in.

"It does," Ginny agreed; "But why didn't he come out and defend him?"

Ginny's question had Hermione think over this thoroughly for a long moment. Normally, Malfoy wouldn't stand and let an insult pass over the Malfoy name, but wittily defend it. However, he had quietly listened and gotten angry. There was enough time for him to come out and retaliate, Hermione was sure, but she didn't understand why he _didn't. _Perhaps he wanted to see what else they could deduce for once, and compare to how much they thought they knew to how much was right…?

"Hermione, we're leaving," Ginny said, standing and yawning. "It's late, and I was going to start the essay that Luna and I had, even though it's due next week. I can do it sometime later though, I suppose."

"Alright. G'night Gin, Harry," Hermione said, nodded to them both as the couple intertwined hands and walked out, aware of the fatigue sweeping through her veins too.

Now aware that she was alone with Ron, she turned and faced him, suddenly aware of how tired she was. It had been a somewhat stressful day, and maybe she could loosen up and talk to him (or do _other_ things) and relax just a bit before she went to sleep.

He smiled contentedly at her, reaching forward to brush a stray curl off of her forehead. He opened his mouth to say something, and upon his ears turning bright red, closed his mouth and smiled shyly instead.

She nearly giggled, but let out a weary yawn and leaned forward and put her arms over his shoulders.

"Stay with me for a while," she said quietly, and he nodded. "There's been so many times when I just wanted to be able to lie next to you, hold your hand…" she trailed off, and there was a nostalgic look to her eyes. "I'm glad… about us."

"Me too," he whispered, his blue eyes bright. Together, they leaned forward and kissed softly, but only for a moment. They broke apart, and she leaned onto his chest, closing her eyes tiredly.

He leaned back, making himself comfy with her pillows, and she shifted on his chest. "Only—only for a while," he yawned. "It'll make you look awfully bad if I fall asleep here and went back to my dorm in the morning."

She let out a weary laugh and nodded. "I know. But if that happens, we'll get Harry to get stuff for you."

She was so happy, so warm and at home lying there, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, her arms around him. She curled closer to him, breathing in a heavy, tired sigh before exhaling again. Eyes heavy with sleep, she clenched a fistful of his shirt.

His arm wound around her shoulder, his fingers in her unruly hair. "I am blessed," he whispered to himself, glancing down at the girl in his arms, who was steadily falling asleep.

"Truly, _truly_ blessed."

_-x-x-x-_

When Hermione woke, she blinked groggily and groaned, staring around at the black room. A body, Ron, was trying to shift subtly out from underneath her without waking the Head Girl.

"Ron," she groaned, her eyes refusing to open under the heavy weight. "Don't go, I'm still sleepy." A confusing statement, not exactly logical, but Ron smiled fondly anyhow. It would most likely be the same thing he would've said if _she_ had been leaving _his_ bed.

"I know. I'll be here in the morning. Go to sleep, Hermione," he whispered gently, standing up. She nodded sleepily, and he pulled the duvet up from beneath her and set it over her shoulders. She clasped it gently and sighed into her pillow.

With a kiss pressed to her cheek, he was gone at one in the morning.

Careful to close the door silently, he gazed at Hermione stuffed under the covers, bathed in moonlight, for just a second longer before he turned away and shut the door completely. Making sure that the staircase would not give way beneath him, he dropped down the steps, casting a final glance at the dying fire and the soft glow it was giving off before pushing through the Gryffindor portrait, and up to his bed where he knew that his dreams would be more than pleasant tonight.

However, at the departure of Ron, Hermione could not get back to sleep. She was dozing in and out of misted dreams that were too weak to keep her asleep. Tossing to one side, she groaned into her pillow, vainly trying to fall back into her dreams, wondering at the same time what was so bloody important that it was keeping her awake.

After a long moment where she sighed and probed her own mind for problems or uncomfortable things that might prevent her from sleeping, abruptly, and loudly, her stomach was heard, growling away and gnawing at her insides for nutrients.

_Food_, she thought to herself blearily, and in almost robotic motions, she got up, found slippers and edged her way down the stairs, eyes shut against the cold air that filled the common room, and against the dull lighted coals of the fire.

Groping around in the kitchen, it took her several minutes where she blatantly refused to open her eyes even in the dark, to find a knife, bread and some peanut butter. When she did, things were all jolly and merry in her sleepy mind, and she made herself a sandwich.

A glass of milk and three and a quarter sandwiches later, Hermione was contentedly filled with food, and her mind was hazy with slumber again. For this, she was entirely grateful. She placed her dirty dishes on a random counter, yawned, and pushed open the kitchen door.

On any normal circumstance, Hermione just would've gone up to her room, and she was still in the state of mind where nothing else matter except returning to her warm duvet and sleeping again. However, her foot was in the air to take a step towards the staircase when the hair on the back of her neck rose, and a startlingly familiar but odd sound filled her ears.

Cracking open her eyes and rubbing away the sand, she blinked for a few moments before she registered what was in front of her, and her face twisted into shock and worry. All sleep was suddenly washed from her mind, and an almost maternal instinct overwhelmed her, overridden by the normal teenage girl curiosity.

Apparently, Malfoy did not know that Hermione was awake and in the kitchen. He must've believed that now, in the middle of the night, where there was no one to look at him and no one to see, he was perfectly safe to do as he pleased in their common room.

But what he was doing nearly made Hermione gasp instead of keeping her in a stunned silence.

The fire was very low, nearly at the point of hissing dead with the few vain sparks from the coals before it admitted defeat and turned to ashes. However, the light that splashed from it still glowed on every surface it hit, and it assured Hermione that what she was seeing was _real_.

It was _very _real.

Malfoy was hunched over, his face in his hands and his shoulders shaking silently. His fingers were clenching the long hair in front of his eyes before he would rub his face for a moment and fist them again. He was trying to keep still, but his body was shaking badly and his suppressed movements could not stop the miserable sounds from escaping his throat.

After a moment, he threw his head up towards the ceiling, his face twisted in pain and lips trembling to keep down the howl that was itching to claw its way out of his throat. Tears poured down his cheeks, each one glorified by the glow of the fire, dropping into his nightshirt or hands.

A naked sob burst out of his throat suddenly, and he buried his face in his hands again, sobs racking his body, noises loud and raw. His frame was too thin, and every other moment he looked terrifying and ready to rip a person apart with his teeth and hands—but he was vulnerable and miserable and in such a harmful state.

Hermione didn't even realize what she was doing until after it happened. Walking forward a few steps, she stopped at the edge of the couch and peered at him closer, and at the same time, breathing out his surname in a stunned voice.

"_Malfoy_?"

And then, quite horribly, she heard herself say his name, saw him tense up as if his blood had turned to stone, and she felt herself tripping over her own feet as she stepped backwards.

He was still, very still, and she stood awkwardly, aware of just how big he was and how small _she_ was, just how easily he could wrap his fingers around her throat, just how much stronger he was, just how goddamned _scared_ she felt at the moment.

There was a tense moment when his head whipped towards her, and Hermione plainly saw terror etched on his face for a split moment before it disappeared in cold, furious anger.

A sudden looming terror rose up in her like never before, and she backed cowardly into the wall as he stood up abruptly and faced her. He was more terrifying than he had been before as the evidence of his own miserable, tortured soul dripped down his face. His eyes, glowing in absolute fury, pinned her against the wall. It was neither his height, nor the haunting, deep scar, nor the way he was flexing his fingers as if he was dying to get his hands on her that scared her.

No, it was the melting murder in his eyes. Anger poured off him in waves, striking terror into her heart and wide eyes. She could neither move nor look away, but found herself sucked into the horrible, tortured mess that was his soul and his mind.

It was all a chaotic blur, suddenly, and a scream of fear rang through her ears, terror urging her muscles, but in the next moment everything went still around her as her body raged to keep moving, to keep fighting, _to get away._

He had lunged at her, and she had automatically shrieked, ducked out of his way and high-tailed it for the staircase. He tripped her ankles, threw an arm around her chest with a loud snarl, and shoved her up against the wall; Hermione found herself inches from his savage, murderous eyes and started whimpering quietly.

Her breathing was jagged, her body pushing away from him naturally, her face frozen in terror. He, however, was very calm, but the swirling, tormented fury in his eyes was not. A muscle twitched in his jaw, catching Hermione's terrified eyes for just a moment, before she was glued again to his.

"Listen to me, you good-for-nothing _bitch_," he whispered in a smoothly calm, deadly voice. "I don't know what the hell you were _doing_ down here this late at night, but if you repeat _anything_ about what you just saw—" Hermione was acutely aware that he was rapidly blinking the remainder of his tears away— "I will not _hesitate_ to rip your throat while you're sleeping. _Do you understand me_?"

Hermione let out a squeak of agreement.

He snatched up her collar and shoved her harder against the wall, and the rage was now openly laid on his face. "I will know," he snarled, eyes narrowed maliciously, harder than ice; "If you tell a single soul, _I will fucking know_."

She let out a cry of pain as he gripped her by her shoulders and threw her viciously against the marble stairs; she landed on her side, her head smashing into the banister. She let out a groan of anguish and clutched her head.

"Do you understand me, you little bitch?" he spat at her, nearly lunging at her in rage. She let out a pained noise and nodded quickly, scrambling to her feet.

He caught her by the elbow, digging his fingernails into her flesh, and ripped her from the staircase. She would've fallen flat on her face was it not for his powerful grip on her arm, but a second later he had swung her around and was digging fingers into both of her bare arms.

"Whether you snitch or not, filthy little Mudblood, you have just put yourself in a dangerous situation. You better watch your back from now on, because I'll be watching you," he hissed in a colorless, hard voice, and threw her as hard as he could against the stairs.

He glared at her, and she recoiled timidly under his gaze, before he turned around and stormed off into his own quarters, slamming the door so hard behind him that the air sang.

For a long time after he had left, Hermione stayed motionless, ignoring the throbbing pains in her back, and trying to steady her racing, terrified heart. She couldn't still her mind enough to think back on the situation, but at the moment she just wanted to calm the hell down, get back into her room and continue from that point after her nerves were out of this mess.

Finally, she rose from the stairs, wincing as she went, and silently treaded back into her bedroom. She groped around for her wand to ignite the lights, unexpectedly aware of her violently shaking hands and body. She flicked the lights on after handling the thin wooden rod, and leaned against the doorframe, dropping to the floor slowly.

For no apparent reason, she dropped her head into her hands, and an overwhelming, sickening feeling rose in her throat. A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and she cried for a moment at the scariness of the previous encounter with Malfoy. After a hard sniff, however, she told herself to suck it up and stop crying, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

She needed to be _logical_, not hysterical. No one ever got anywhere when they were hysterical, and Hermione Granger _always_ got where she needed to be.

Trying to breathe deeply and evenly, she searched around for the journals that Ginny had given her, and flipped open to the newest page in the blue one, the one she had selected to write her thoughts on Malfoy. She sat down at her vanity, looking around for her inkwell and quill, before dipping the feather in the blackness and dating the page.

_It started tonight, I suppose. Dumbledore's mission. I remember thinking earlier that if he hadn't given it to me, I probably would've taken it on by myself. I woke up very late, and went down for a bit to eat, and when I walked out of the kitchen he was on the couch, crying. I've never thought him to be an entirely infallible person, but could I ever imagine him displaying such an emotion big enough to make him cry? Absolutely not. He was always a bully to me. But this year, he just wants me out of his way, but now I'm going to have to refuse to move, no matter what. Dumbledore is counting on me._

_Anyways, he was furious when he saw that I was there, intruding on his crying. He shoved me against the wall and threatened to rip out my throat in my sleep, something I probably would've wanted to do in such a humiliating situation. However, he told me I'm in trouble now, even though I haven't a chance to tell anyone what happened (not that I could ever dream of doing so—morals, you know). He said he'll be watching me. As much as a cliché that is, I'm just a little scared. Lately he's been so unpredictable… well no, not unpredictable, but avoiding everyone and confrontation and just being so much meaner than he used to be. He's hurt and he wants to wallow, I'm sure, but he can't do it forever! I definitely need to help him._

_I'm not really sure what's going to become of me this year, because I know I'll be under so much stress and I won't have enough time, and the time I do have will go to him— and not Ron. And if Ron ever found out what I was doing, would we last? Are we going to after the hell that Malfoy'll put me through? I'm not so sure, but gods, I hope so. Ron is everything to me… I can't handle not having the comfort of him by my side._

_Vicious or not, Malfoy's shell will not go unbroken. I will break him down and find out what happened, and I will help him get better. He's got to heal. He's so unhealthy right now, and I just… I don't know what else to do. Maybe I should be a healer instead of an Auror because I'm always trying to make everyone feel better. Hopefully, I'll succeed with Malfoy._

Hermione closed the journal after blowing the ink dry on the page a few times, and stared at the cover in a pensive silence. Of course Malfoy would react so violently after she had intruded on such a personal moment of his; she wouldn't put physical threats past him. But the _terror _that had been on his face, what was it for? Was he scared that she had found him in such a weak, vulnerable state, or something else?

And what exactly was he crying about?

The thought graced her mind immediately: _his mother_. It made sense, of course, but in a way Hermione didn't get it. But then again, how could she? She didn't know the full details, she didn't know what the _hell_ had happened, and she didn't know why Malfoy was left in this devastating mess. All she knew what that Malfoy killed his mother, but he loved her, but he was _innocent_, and apparently Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with the crime, and hadn't been sighted anywhere near his manor anytime recently, let alone anywhere else in the world.

So how in the _world_ did this all add up?

Hermione had a feeling, that in the end, she would understand. Of _course_ she would understand in the end, but she was too impatient to wait for it all to be over and done with. She wanted answers _now_; the demand was in her nature, she knew that. But she didn't care. She needed to explain to herself why this all happened so she had one less thing to worry about in her life.

But Merlin, soon things like that weren't going to bother her anymore. Because in the future, all she had to worry about was keeping her sanity… and her life.

And hunting down the truth from Draco Malfoy was going to put both of those in _extreme_ jeopardy.

_**-  
-x-x-x-  
-**_

**Author's Note**: So, liked it? Because most Draco/Hermione stories only focus on the couple (not _all_, just the majority) I'm trying to wind in the usual story of the books too: the threat of Voldemort. I'm just writing it from Hermione's point of view!

Anyways, next chapter, another confrontation between our two favorite kids, and some Ron/Hermione action! –laughs as some audiences gags- Gotta put up with it guys, you'll kill me eventually anyways!

Thank you **A Roses Innocence** for beta-ing this for me! Wonderful job, as always!

So please, I worked _very_ hard on this (not really, but _very_ rapidly!) so it would be very appreciated if you would **please review!**


	5. Weakness

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, just this plot.

Okay, I got good reviews for the angry Malfoy scene last chapter, and hehe, that was fun to write. That anger of his will play a major part in this story, and you shall be seeing lots more of it! In fact, there's another thing like that in here… hmm…

Anyways, on with the story!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter Five--))  
Weakness

-

_Hermione had a feeling that in the end, she would understand. Of course she would understand in the end, but she was too impatient to wait for it all to be over and done with. She wanted answers now; the demand was in her nature, she knew that. But she didn't care. She needed to explain to herself why this all happened so she had one less thing to worry about in her life._

_But Merlin, soon things like that weren't going to bother her anymore. Because in the future, all she had to worry about was keeping her sanity… and her life._

_And hunting down the truth from Draco Malfoy was going to put both of those in extreme jeopardy. _

Hermione woke with a start the next morning, a feeling of absolute dread resting on her stomach. She pulled her duvet back over her head sleepily, trying to remember what was preventing her from her normal daily awakening.

Her eyes drifted shut drowsily, her body still drunk with sleep and warmth. Her mind, always working, always buzzing with thought, doused Hermione to a gasping start as she was hit with the memory of the previous night.

_Malfoy_.

She had seen him _crying_. She pushed aside her blankets hurriedly, her brow furrowing, and searched around for the journals. Energy buzzed beneath her skin, flesh awakening with logic and intelligence as she lifted herself into another day. Flipping through the few pages that were occupied, she skimmed over the entry she had written and sighed darkly, thinking.

He now had a solid reason to hate her utterly and completely, to go out of his way to make her life a living hell. However, if she let one word slip, he would be humiliated beyond reason, right?

_Right. There is no other explanation for his violent reaction when I found him. He could've shouted at me to leave, and I would've. But he **attacked** me, and **that** is an entirely different story._ Chewing her lip, she picked up fresh clothing and entered her bathroom.

Turning the faucet on and testing the water, she tried not to allow herself to think of the consequences if she dared tell a soul of what she had seen. The absurdity of it, though, would make even the most logical minds—even her own!—doubt Hermione's honest words.

But she would never, _ever_ say a thing to anyone. Closing her eyes, her pulse raced as she recalled the way he seemed to have control over her completely, shocking her into ridged, frozen fear with his predatory, bestial behavior.

Shedding off her clothes, she dipped a toe into the warm shower and waited a bit more. She turned, catching a glimpse of her bare body in the mirror across the room; her mouth parted, her eyes wide as she stared at her own reflection.

_Bruises_. Bruises etched up her arms, darker imprints of his brutal hands on her shoulders, the scabbed wounds painful reminders of his sharp nails.

Hermione turned to view her back, her hands trembling at the thought of having to explain the imprints of abuse on her body. Dark, long strips down her back, mostly by her shoulders, adorned the rest of the milky flesh of her torso. Mouth quivering at the surreal danger of her mission, she traced the marks on her body, biting her lip in worried thought.

No matter what she did, at one point or another, someone was going to see them. Ginny, perhaps, when the girls were alone and Hermione would shed a layer because of the heat of the Gryffindor fire, or—

_Ron. He'd—he'd go bonkers. He'd be furious, not only with me, but with everyone else too_, she thought fearfully.

Stepping resolutely out of the shower, she was determined to hide what fresh wounds she had to reveal; Hermione had taken on the mission willingly and she would fight, with or without the scars to prove it.

_-x-x-x-_

Dressed and washed for the day, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and descended the marble staircase.

She was thinking offhandedly about her wand when suddenly, she wished that she had it in her hand rather than in her bag.

Hermione turned automatically to the source of a door opening; for a moment, a figure was shrouded in shadow, standing still. Her body seemed to freeze in place, unable to move as terror suddenly surged through her at the sight of gleaming eyes through the darkness.

Slowly, Malfoy moved from the darkness, the last shadows casting a horribly frightening look on his features. His sharp facial features exemplified, the scar stood out more hauntingly than ever, his lips lifted in a dangerous sneer, and his eyes—_oh god, they burn_—his eyes glowed, seething with rage.

Hermione, after a long moment that seemed to last an eternity, gathered just an iota of her wits, let out a squeak of fear, and made a mad dash for the door. Malfoy, one step ahead of her, leapt over the sofa and planted himself right in front of the portrait.

She was moving so fast that she had no time to stop, only to slow down; still, she rammed into him, emitting a plain squeal of fear as he snarl and latched his nails into her flesh.

His fingers pressed even harder into the bruises that he had made overnight and Hermione made strangled, pained noises as she tried to keep her calm composure. But still, the sight of his darkening eyes, ripe with maliciousness, made a tremor of cold fear trickle down her spine, and her body started to shake.

"Let go of me!" she begged, the nerves below the tender skin shooting in hot pain. "Merlin, _please_! You're hurting me!"

"All the better, you stupid little wretch," Malfoy snarled, his face twisted dangerously. "You better keep your little Mudblood mouth shut, or—"

"I _will_!" she hasted to cry, her body now quaking with fear as he dug his nails deeper through her clothing, his dangerous eyes darker than ever with revenge. He tightened his vice-grip rather suddenly and she let out a cry of pain.

"Your promises mean _nothing_. I don't need encouragement to cut your throat, believe me. But I'm _not_ going back to Azkaban because a stupid little Mudblood _bitch_ couldn't keep her mouth shut, _understand_?"

When she made no reply, but only paled in fear, eyes wider than ever, he let out a livid roar and suddenly threw her against the wall.

Her toes only brushed the floor and her heart was surely bruising her ribcage; her pulse seemed to fly and blend into a single throb that was like ice through her veins, and even the horrible pain in her arms and back was not enough to shake her from her frozen terror.

He gripped her collar, knuckles pushed deeply against her throat. She was losing breath, and fast, and her terrified gasping for air did not move him in the least.

"I will be watching you, Mudblood. Every single move you make, every word that you utter from your worthless mouth, _I will hear._ Do not underestimate me; I have ears all over the castle, and ways stronger than you could ever imagine," he spat, eyes narrowed to silver slits.

He released his hold on her so suddenly that her knees buckled beneath her and Malfoy gripped her abruptly by the underarm and brought her petrified face close to the danger of his.

He said nothing, but the ragged breathing forced from his nose and mouth, the sight of his sharp teeth and even sharper scar, and his glowing eyes forced her into speechlessness. A choked sound escaped her throat and suddenly, his brutal fingers clamped around her throat.

The shock that she could not breathe scared her more than anything; she gasped a terrified noise and he roared at her. "I _will_ kill you, Mudblood!"

He glared into her eyes so fiercely for such a long time, she nearly started whimpering. With an angry snarl, he grabbed her and threw her down with all his might to the floor. She huddled to the ground, shaking badly, and did not see Malfoy clutching his wand, aiming it at the tempting victim, but withdraw it with an angry reluctance.

The portrait opened and almost instantly slammed with a scream as the lock crashed into the frame.

Only after his thunderous footsteps had faded down the corridor did Hermione start to move on her own again. Trembling like a leaf, she drew deep, rough breaths before standing.

White as a ghost and scared beyond her wits of the ferocious Head Boy, Hermione dug around for her wand and her journal, and made her way down to the great hall, the paranoia and fear in her eyes rather evident.

The crisp silence of the school, where nearly every person of the student body was enjoying their breakfast, she could not help but whimper at the fear clawing up her insides. It was wrong, the silence hanging around her, and there was danger lurking in the whisper of the castle.

She descended the marble staircase, slowing as she dropped down each step. She hesitated as the banister came to a halt, her trembling fingers grasping the marble. She looked around, breath uneven, before making the ultimate decision that the small space between herself, and the doors to the great hall, was small enough to grant her safety.

Except… it wasn't.

Her trembling foot stepped down, and with jerky movements she made her way across the hall. She reached out, clutched the handle, twisting it open.

The muffled voices were heard clearly, a sliver of safe reality, for a sweet moment—

His clenched fist, knuckles taut and whiter than snow, slammed suddenly beside her head, and she could not utter a noise of fear as Malfoy seized her upper-arm.

He swung her, the suppressed bellow crawling out of his throat, and she slammed into the wooden door, her vision swimming at the hard force. Her body slipped against the surface, and fell to the floor.

"Get up," he snarled at her, and plainly she could hear the fury behind his voice, and something she could not place. Desperation? Panic?

"_I said, get up_!" He lunged, grabbing hold of her shoulders and hauled her off the floor. A wail escaped her throat as his nails dug into the fresh bruises, and at such pain she groped for her wand, fighting his strong movements.

There was a rush, and the quiet black of her eyelids was the only comfort she had as the mess of color and sound was mixed. Sharp pain, angry noises, before she was still again. Her eyes slowly opened, hesitation joining the fear in her eyes.

The tip of her faithful wand was buried deep in the hollow of his throat. She was surprised to feel her own face contorted in anger instead of fear, and the malicious look in his eyes overridden by a chaotic-looking fear.

"Leave me alone," she managed to hiss, her voice trembling timidly.

Fear. In her voice, he could sense it, and his fright turned to brutal victory; his lip curled slightly, and the murder returned to his eyes.

"I'll be watching you, Granger," he hissed, the cruel happiness evident in his cold smile. "_Every move_. When you're alone, you better be ready for me."

"Stay—_stay away from me_." She didn't mean to sound so frightened—so helpless— but she couldn't help it.

He made a slashing movement with his arm, making her blurt out the first spell that came to mind, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" before she found herself flat on the ground, the back of her ankles screaming in pain.

Malfoy stood some feet away, quietly watching her realize that she was down, that she had fallen, that _he_ had made it that way. His sharp figure, thin as it was, radiated power and brutality… something she didn't want to mess with.

Something that she would soon be neck-deep in.

He gave her one last cold look, his own long fingers wielding a wand, before turning his back and leaving her vision.

Cautiously, Hermione stood up, her heart drumming fiercely against her ribcage. This fresh encounter with Malfoy left her breathless, terrified, and hurt. Her shoulders screamed in pain, the bruises carrying the heavy weight of her book bag, and her ankles cried louder, forced to support her own body weight.

But she knew the injuries he had caused, although intentional and painful, would barely hurt at all compared to the ones he had in store for her.

One thing was for sure, Hermione Granger was in trouble.

_-x-x-x-_

Everyone noticed her limp, the way her face was twisted and tense, trying to suppress a pain of some kind. Even the most ignorant of people glanced at her, slightly curious thought to the obvious limp in her step.

The only ones who bothered to ask, though, were the ones she knew she loved.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Ginny asked immediately. "What happened to your foot?"

"I-I tripped," she supplied lamely, sitting down next to Ron, who was sleeping in his bowl of porridge. It was a wonder he didn't suffocate.

"On what?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"The stairs," Hermione snapped. Ginny, eyeing the Head Girl with obvious mistrust, said nothing more on the matter of her walk. However…

"Why are you so pale then?" Ginny inquired.

"Well, how would you look if you nearly fell down a flight of those ridiculous stairs, Ginny? Honestly, what's with the interrogation?" Hermione muttered, thankful for a lie that was not entirely stupid.

"Sorry," the younger girl mumbled, but Hermione could sense the false sincerity in her voice.

The beating of her heart had slowed considerably, thankfully, and Hermione tried to push herself into her normal attitude, her normal morning routine. She reached around for coffee and toast, thankful when the steaming liquid steadied her nerves a bit.

The trepidation draining from her veins, Hermione shook Ron awake, frowning at the stream of curses under his breath.

"Go away," he mumbled. Hermione sighed.

"Spider!" Ginny yelled suddenly and, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on him, he started immediately.

"Stupid little bint—" He scowled fiercely at his sister's mischievous smile and brushed the cold food from his cheek. "God forbid I sleep."

"That's what your _bed_ is for, Ronald," Hermione sighed, her brow arched.

"Well, Mr. Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Shut-Up over there wouldn't _shut up_ last night," Ron clipped unpleasantly.

"I _told_ you, Ron—" It was the first time Harry had spoken that morning and Hermione noted something distinctly wrong with him.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she interrupted. He had a startled, nervous look on his face, and all eyes turned to examine him. He avoided eye contact with each of them and Hermione frowned, concerned.

"He's just pale, Hermione. Nothing some good food can't solve," Ginny suggested.

But no, his eyes were gleaming, closed off and distant. His jaw was tense, the muscle and sinew visible in the sides of his face. The paleness of his skin—yes, of _course_ that could be anything—but it only helped her suspicions.

"Fine," he grunted, eyes lowered completely. His tone of voice alerted all three of them, even Ron, whose sleepy manner was slowly disappearing.

"Mate,—"

"I said I'm _fine_," Harry snarled suddenly, looking up at them. The bestial, insane look in his eyes frightened Hermione, so much to the point that abruptly, he was as fierce and angry as Malfoy.

Ginny hesitantly touched his arm and he looked away sharply, breathing hard through his nostrils.

"I _can't_—it won't stop—" His voice was weak and in shreds, and he cupped his face rather quickly. "Just leave me _alone_." The hard anger had returned and his shoulders were squared and strained.

"Dumbledore," Hermione said immediately, panicked. Ron and Ginny did not hesitate to agree. Ginny pulled Harry out of his seat and for a moment, his body went limp and agreed with her, but then—

"_Stop_!" he growled at her, tearing his arm away. His lip was curled, his eyes bright and fierce.

"Harry—" Ginny started weakly.

"No! _I said NO_!" When she reached for him again, he grabbed her forearm and flung her away with such force that she was thrown to the floor. Her cry of surprise was quickly overridden by Ron's furious voice.

"_Don't you DARE, you son of a_—" Ron lunged for Harry, jumping over the table. Hermione, frozen at the rush of things, withdrew her wand, yelling out a disarming spell, only managing to strip Harry of his wand, but not his anger.

Ron had defended Ginny, shouting at Harry; something was horribly wrong with Harry, he wasn't himself, and without warning, he had a fork in his hand, and Ron was _so close_—

There was a rush in her mind, a flash of color as her heart stopped. The image of Ron, bleeding, still, pale and cold was embedded into her eyes; the choked feeling of her throat, the emptiness of her heart—

"_NO_!" Hermione screamed at him, panic flooding through her body at the thought of Ron with a surely fatal injury. He shrieked in surprise as the fork sank into his arm, Hermione screamed, and suddenly the teachers were interfering.

She hadn't noticed the alarmed students or the teachers fighting their way over, but instead, she had been overcome with fear as Harry, wild and mad, had stabbed Ron.

It was over, suddenly, when Harry was still and unmoving on the ground, Ron clutching his arm as blood dripped through his fingers. Ginny was torn between her brother and her unconscious boyfriend; Hermione, on the other hand, was nearly blinded by frightened tears. They did not fall from her eyes, merely blocked her vision. She clutched onto Ron, prying his fingers away from the wound and healing it quickly with her own wand, but at the same time suppressing the tears that had sprung forward. She embraced him rather fiercely, petrified.

And then, all three of them were fighting to see Harry as Dumbledore lifted him, handing him over by the arms to Pomfrey and McGonagall. The Great Hall, usually so busy with life and gossip, was silent.

"Students, please return to your breakfasts. I do apologize for the rather violent interruption, but no one has been harmed and matters are being sorted. Kindly return to your meals and your normal morning, thank you." The powerful, kind voice of Dumbledore was such a reassurance to Hermione, even as she clung to Ron's hand, holding on so fiercely that neither of them could feel their own fingers.

He looked solemnly towards Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and they didn't have to hear him speak it to know that they would be summoned, alone, to his office to try and explain Harry's bizarre behavior.

The few teachers that returned to the staff table, Sprout, Sinistra, Trelawney, the teachers who didn't stray into the depths of Harry mysterious past as much as the others, were supervising. After the incident, students would surely gossip, and many a time, gossip led to fighting.

With help of a levitation spell, Harry was brought to the hospital wing and laid silently on a bed. His face was paler than it had been, milky and whiter than porcelain, and even in his state of unconsciousness, there was a menacing look about him. His fingers were twitching, his muscles pulled tight and his face twisting constantly.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny were around the side of the bed listening, but not registering the bustle of Madam Pomfrey retrieving Potions and the corresponding whispers between Snape and McGonagall, and only allowing themselves to notice Dumbledore with the tip of his wand stationed gently on Harry's temple.

Whatever spell the wise old headmaster had murmured was a success, for Harry finally lay still on the bedspread. Both Ginny and Hermione were indefinitely worried for Harry and did not budge from his side until Hermione realized that she might possibly be late for class.

One by one, the teachers had all left, only at Dumbledore's words of confirmation that Harry was alright, until only Hermione, Ron and Ginny remained, silent and unmoving.

"I know you three are greatly attached to Mr. Potter, but at the moment, he is only asleep. I cannot permit you to worry for him when he is only in a dreaming state of mind," Dumbledore said gently, quietly.

Hermione, eyes blazing, stared at the Professor. He looked back, solidly, standing by his decision.

"You never asked us what happened, though, Professor," she said in a hushed voice, almost as if she were afraid to wake her sleeping friend.

"I realize this and I do not plan to ask. Mr. Potter will provide secure enough details, and should I have any doubt in him, I would inquire you three afterwards. But until then, he is perfectly safe, and there is no excuse for you to be late for your next class." Dumbledore's words hit a chord in Hermione and now that the Headmaster himself had assured Harry's safety, she was torn between loyalty to her friend and loyalty to her education.

"Ron," she said suddenly, her voice tense. "_Potions_. Snape—he's going to be furious!" The redhead gasped so loudly, his expression changing from solemn to shock so quickly that it almost seemed comical.

"No!" Both seventh years looked towards their headmaster, their expression that of a silent plea.

"I can give you both notes of excuse; that should be enough for Professor Snape," Dumbledore offered.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances; _like hell it'll be enough_.

"Should we go?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"Of _course_ we should go. We _have_ to go," Hermione said at once. "Imagine the points he'll dock _next_ class for our absence should we decide not to go. I mean, he _may_ dock for our tardiness, but it would be far less than what he _would_ deduct."

The sullen look on Ron's face was enough for her to soften, but not to change her mind.

"May we have a note for each of us, Professor?" Hermione asked politely. Ron's face drooped in disappointment.

"Harry is _fine_, so there's no excuse for us to be watching him sleep, Ronald," she explained. "You _cannot_ skive off classes."

Dumbledore handed them each a note, smiling knowingly at their quiet argument.

"Speak for yourself, Hermione. Merlin knows _you_ would never skive off a class," he said rather scathingly. Both students had their notes and argued amongst themselves on their way out of the Hospital Wing.

Hermione scoffed, reaching for the doorknob. "And what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean, Ronald Weasley?"

He followed her out, immediately replying, "It _means_ you seem to love _learning_ more than _me_."

A bark of muffled laughter echoed inside the Wing as they traveled down the empty corridors.

"Don't be fishing for compliments, Ron. We both happen to know I enjoy learning _and_ you very much," she snapped.

"You should enjoy_ me_ more, I'm your boyfriend!"

"So what? I'm not enjoying you right now, you bloody jerk! We're fighting over nothing!"

"Well, you started it."

"_Excuse me_?" There was a long period of silence before Ron spoke.

"Oh, Hermione, come back! I didn't _mean_ it!"

"Oh yes, you did!"

The rest of their conversation faded into the shadows and Ginny smiled happily at their bickering as Dumbledore, smiling faintly as well, handed her a note of excuse.

Harry was safe. Hermione and Ron were fighting over stupid little things again. All was swell…

For a while, at least.

_-x-x-x-_

"Why, thank you for gracing my class with your presence, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley," Snape drawled. Hermione and Ron winced, awaiting the unfair punishment that was sure to come. "Let's see—" His intent was surely to embarrass them in front of a class, while at the same time take house points away for nothing and inspire resentment from their own house.

"You are five minutes late. I think we should multiply the number of minutes by ten points, and then by each student. So, that being said, how many points has Gryffindor just lost?" He selected Blaise Zabini, the boy with a cruel smile on his face who looked eager to supply the answer.

"A hundred, sir," he answered, smirking. The Slytherins around him snickered, all very entertained at their Head of House abusing his power.

Snape smiled, nothing but frigid malice in his face. "A hundred points from Gryffindor, it is."

_I shouldn't even bother about the note_, Hermione thought miserably._ But it's **got** to be worth something_.

"Please, Professor, Dumbledore gave us an excuse note," Hermione said timidly, handing over the slip of parchment when Snape's demanding hand opened expectantly.

Snape read over the note, his lip curling at the Headmaster's words. Hermione shared a nervous look with Ron as Snape drew up a final statement to give to them. He looked up at them, finally, a glare in his eyes, turned around with a _swish!_ and went to the front of the room.

"Professor—" Hermione began.

"Ten points for speaking out of turn, Miss Granger," he spat. Hermione gaped at him for a moment, furious, before she shut her mouth resolutely, stepping on Ron's toes in order to stop his angry retort of protest.

"Now _sit_!"

Face twisted at the unfairness of their situation, Ron and Hermione scrambled for their seats, Hermione next to the ever-timid Neville, and Ron next to Harry's empty seat. Hermione would've liked to snap back at their professor, but she knew Snape would've enjoyed her fury and would've enjoyed applying consequences even more.

Snape glared at his class from the front of the room before twisting his robes around his arms and speaking.

"You'll be continuing with your Healing Potions from last class. The instructions and ingredients are on the board, as well as the new assignment. I want fifteen inches on the properties of this potion you're creating, any side effects that it may include, and other substances that will cause the potion to malfunction or counteract in any way or form. Due next week." Despite being cast in shadow, anyone could spot the smirk that curled over his lips.

Nearly instantly, whispers of outrage and panic flew up, just to be suppressed quickly as students wrote down directions. Hermione shook her head with an irritated sigh, cupping her temple, and followed the rest of the class in copying the spiky writing on the board.

"Horrible," Neville moaned quietly. "I'll never get this essay of his done, and even if I do, it won't be nearly as good enough as he would like for a passing grade."

"Rubbish," Hermione replied promptly, throwing him as glance as she rapidly wrote. "If you need help to get it done, you know I'll lend you a hand, Neville."

"Really?" he replied brightly.

"I always do," she answered and smiled faintly.

Soon enough everyone was lined up to get ingredients and Hermione and Neville were discussing the violent disruption that morning when Ron pushed between them, listening.

"Everyone was talking about it after you four left," Neville explained. "I mean, honestly, it was like the Minister of Magic died or something. It isn't like Harry went bonkers on us overnight, something obviously had interfered."

"Exactly what I think," Hermione muttered darkly. She exchanged a glance with Ron. "This—this has happened once before, as Harry had told us. But he had so much control then. And—and if it wasn't _him_ this morning, and he couldn't—" Hermione stopped, thinking so rapidly as realization dawned on her.

"Merlin, I hate it when she does this," mumbled Ron under his breath.

_Voldemort. It **had** to be Voldemort, who else would it be? Once in fifth year, and now again? But he had so much power over Harry, he was practically a puppet this morning! If only I knew why he would strike so soon in the year… it's not even October yet!_

"_Move_," snarled a cold, bitter voice. It was like a gigantic cloud had risen up inside of Hermione, for her heart was beating hard and her body was moving quickly out of Malfoy's way in fear as he cut the line for ingredients.

Hermione jumped out of the way, but she couldn't suppress the sudden stabbing pains in her fresh bruises, all inflicted by Malfoy. She clutched her collar bone with a sharp gasp as it gave a particularly painful twinge.

Malfoy pushed past the three of them, giving Hermione a dirty, spiteful look. She tore her eyes away from his eyes before she was pinned down by the enormous, swallowing hate and looked to the ground.

_Would Malfoy have anything to do with it?_ Hermione's mind echoed. The possibility of Voldemort attacking Harry because of _Malfoy_ was unlikely.

However…

_The possibility of Voldemort attacking Harry because of the murder is not. Had there been other forces, had Lucius been there, had her death caused a horrible domino effect of some kind, then Voldemort's reasoning for the attack was influenced by it._

_But why would Narcissa's death be something to anger him? What was her significance? _Hermione was gathering ingredients absentmindedly, totally lost in thought. _Maybe he needed her for something… maybe he needed to have something accomplished, and she was the only one that could._

And hadn't Harry had those awful dreams? He _had_ dreamt about Andromeda's death—or the precious few hours, minutes, or days before it had happened. So why couldn't his nightmares be a clue to the attack?

"Out of my _way!_" She barely had time to turn at the snarl before Malfoy rammed hard into her shoulder as he returned to his desk. She yelped, twisted her ankle, and fell to the ground. In a matter of seconds, all thought was consumed as her flesh was burning up before her eyes.

It was the fire acid, a type of substance that, when diluted correctly, killed off most substances. When pure and untouched, however, the effects were more painful and more damaging than undiluted bubotuber pus.

Hermione's frantic screaming alerted Ron almost instantly; he had his arm about her and lifted her to her feet, dragging her to the sink where Snape was barking directions at him. The class halted to a stop to watch Snape give instructions that would heal a _Gryffindor._

"Hot water—_hot_, you imbecile!" Ron hastened for the hot jet and tried to coax Hermione to stick her hands under the steaming water. Her face was twisted and the few pained tears that escaped her eyes were the only ones she would allow to get away.

"Ouch—_ouch!_" Soon, the searing pain was gone and replaced by an aching throb.

"Hospital wing, Granger. Right now," Snape spat. Hermione felt bad about leaving Neville and Snape behind, but that was just the way it would have to be.

In retrospect, she was glad that she had gone. Because when she visited Madam Pomfrey, she was allowed a glimpse into a world that was darker than she had ever known it to be.

_-x-x-x-_

Hermione was entirely surprised to see Harry still lying down in the hospital bed, and even more so when she realized Dumbledore was hovering over him. Madam Pomfrey mended her hands almost instantly, simply applying a thick paste and bandages, and she was dismissed.

Ever so quietly, however, Hermione approached the headmaster.

"Is he—_all right_?" Her voice sounded a bit forced, her throat choked by the sudden fear that arrived.

"As good as he will be, for the moment," Dumbledore answered quietly. He looked up to Hermione and she understood it was all right to voice her thoughts, her concern and suspicion.

"Professor, it's Voldemort again, isn't it?" He didn't have to nod for her to continue; "I just don't know why he's struck so soon into the year… could this possibly have anything to do with the murders?"

"My guess is as good as yours, Miss Granger. Although I did suspect the same, I'm not sure. I do not understand his reasons; what significance could the late Mrs. Malfoy have with the upcoming war?" he voiced quietly. Hermione was silent for a minute, staring down at Harry, who was whiter than a ghost.

"Professor," she said suddenly; she had just a snippet of a conversation before: "Harry told us something about another murder, of Andromeda? Tonks' mum?"

Dumbledore stared at her, but she could tell he was in deep thought. "I did have my suspicions about her death relating to Narcissa's, but I had nothing to base it on. What did Mr. Potter tell you, exactly?"

"I—I can't really say," she started hesitantly. "The four of us were discussing some nightmares he was having, and when he started talking about the murder, it was like—"

"Something was stopping him?" Dumbledore interjected quietly. Hermione nodded slowly. "I had a feeling something like this has happened.

"I'm going to show you something, Miss Granger, and you are not allowed to voice this to anyone _ever_, not even to your own conscience if you can help it."

"Sir?" Hermione asked, confused. Her pulse picked up as Dumbledore started talking again.

"Harry now is unconscious, but only because I have made him that way. When he is in a natural state of sleep, unaided, you shall see what is controlling him," he said gravely.

"Professor, I don't understand—"

"You may not, but it will help you when you least expect it." And without another word from Hermione, Dumbledore withdrew his wand, stood, and hovered over Harry.

"Do not be frightened, Miss Granger." With that, he lowered his wand to Harry's temple, murmured a few choice words, and stepped back away from the gentle light.

Harry was still, only for a moment, but soon his fingers were twitching, and his face was contorted, twisted up into fury.

"_Get out_!" Somehow, it was Harry's voice, hoarse, terrified, weaker than Hermione had ever heard it. She stared in horror as he started squirming around, pained noises escaping his throat. Suddenly a shallow scream escaped his throat and his body arched off the bed.

"_You will not say_—" It was not Harry's voice, but a cold hiss, malevolent and powerful, which rose from his throat, "_The Mudblood will never hear, you SHALL NOT SAY_."

"_I won't_!" Harry yelled out. "_I'll tell them both_!"

"_NO! YOU ARE FORBIDDEN_!" Harry started screaming, so loudly and so painfully, Hermione yelped and boxed her own ears to escape the horrifying sound. His body was thrashing about, only held down by the magical restraints, but it seemed his body would've crashed into the ceiling or the windows had he been released.

"_Stop it_!" Hermione screamed at Dumbledore, as Harry's voice became hoarser, weaker. He was _dying_, she could hear it. "For the love of God, Professor, _please_!"

She had no idea in _hell_ how Dumbledore had remained so calm, but in a moment, Harry's flailing body was quiet and still, his chest heaving, his body broken out in sweat. Hermione was shivering in a cold sort of fear and she could not calm her heart, nor stop the desperate gasping of her lungs.

She looked to Dumbledore and tried to speak, but only managed a confused, scared whimper.

"Voldemort is inside Mr. Potter at this very moment. Harry is under a Forbiddance Spell and whatever Voldemort commands to be a secret will _stay_ a secret. The death of Andromeda: that has been Forbidden. The death of Narcissa: that _too_ has been Forbidden. Things essential for your mission, Miss Granger, have all been Forbidden. You will not be able to coax the truth from him, but only from Mr. Malfoy."

The thought of Draco Malfoy—looming, terrifying, murderous—and the thought of Harry taken over by the most dangerous, powerful Dark Wizard in history sent her into a dead faint. Her head fell back and she toppled off the chair.

Dumbledore kneeled next to her still body, a hand on her cheek. "I do hope you have the power for this, Miss Granger. Harry needs you, but Draco needs you more."

And if Hermione had been awake to hear that, she might not have agreed.

Not yet, anyways.

_-x-x-x-_

Harry was absent for the rest of the day, as well as the next week, to be quite honest. People were talking, throwing glances towards Hermione, Ron and Ginny almost all day, between every class, in every meal, in whatever spare moment they had.

Ron and Ginny had been talking in whispers about it almost as much as the school was talking about Harry's absence. So far, neither of them had noticed that Hermione's logical input wasn't there.

Hermione, in one word, was disturbed. Utterly and completely disturbed. The sight of her friend, so weak and so terrifying at the same time; possessed and unable to do a damn thing for himself but scream, speaking against Lord Voldemort, honestly frightened the living daylights out of her. Every time she thought about it, shivers bolted up her spine, and a tightening in her chest made her choke up in pain as she forced her mind onto a different topic. Every time she heard Harry's name (which now happened to be almost constantly), she had to pinch herself quite firmly to focus on _her _pain, rather than Harry's.

And Malfoy, he had been on her case much more than he ever had. Whenever she looked up, he was glaring at her; whenever she turned around, he was there, in the shadows, prepared to strangle her the moment no one was looking. Every time she was able to throw her mind away from Harry, it was overcome in fear of Malfoy.

Ginny noticed her constant shivering soon enough and then Ron did, and he was quite upset about it. They pulled Hermione out of lunch one day and the three of them sat on the marble staircase of the main foyer.

"Please tell us, Hermione. Something's happened to you," Ginny urged her quietly.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she replied, but the trembling whisper of her voice was enough to send Ron into a rage.

"Was it Malfoy, Hermione? _Was it_?" he growled. Hermione shook her head, tried to convince them, and herself, that Malfoy had nothing to do with this, that it was Harry who was bothering her.

But in the back of her mind, she knew it was Malfoy that had instigated this whole circle of fear.

Ron touched her cheek and she couldn't help but lean towards the gentleness of his fingers. She looked up at him, her eyes glossy, and stared. He looked more concerned than she had ever seen him, and yet the anger towards Malfoy in his eyes was more intimidating than she could imagine. The tightness of his jaw, the stern look in his eyes…

It all spelled out safety for her and that was what she wanted. She wanted to be safe from Harry's screams echoing in her ears; she wanted to be safe from Malfoy's terrifying presence; she just wanted _out_ of this whole mess.

Hermione didn't realize what she had been doing, but when she did, she could've both hit herself and sighed in mental relief. Ginny was quite frightened as Hermione tackled Ron and started kissing him rather brutally. Ron stared at Ginny in surprise, but at the same time, as Hermione forced their kiss deeper, he was pulled into it. His eyes slid closed and he gave into Hermione's hands that were holding him down.

"Oh Merlin," Ginny muttered to herself, got up and left the hall. Ron and Hermione were smothered together, leaning down the stairs and teetering on the edge of the steps. Ginny was tempted to stand and count until they fell, but she knew better.

Hermione's hold slipped as she rolled over the edge of the stairs and Ron grabbed her shoulder before she could go any farther. Panicking at the loss of bliss, she got up, grabbed Ron by the hand, and rushed up the stairs. Blindly, she ran along the corridor until she found it: a broom closet.

Hermione wrenched open the door, grabbed Ron by the collar and threw him in, and jumped in after him. The door slammed shut, and for the rest of lunch, it remained closed.

Hermione was usually a very logical person. Sometimes, though, her feelings were stronger than her mind, and she was forced to allow them the lead in whatever direction she was heading. However, that was something quite rare for her, because she knew her mind was stronger than anything else she had in her body.

But this year, that wouldn't be good enough. It was only September and Harry was already the center of gossip. Malfoy had undergone a very sad, depressing transformation over the summer, for the worse. His soul seemed to have been ripped to shreds and he did not want to be sewn together again.

And already, Hermione was losing a bit of her sanity. Ferociously snogging Ron in a broom closet in the middle of the day? Hermione would've been appalled with herself if she ever knew it would happen. She would've preferred the privacy of her dorm, in the night, where she and Ron could be cozy in front of the fire, instead of groping around in the dark and shoving mops and buckets out of the way.

But they were all losing, very slowly. Hermione would go down first, Malfoy shortly after. The rest of the world would be gone, and it was up to her, _completely_, to help bring it back.

And yet Malfoy would try to prevent it, try to prevent the healing, try to let himself wither in misery. She wasn't supposed to let that happen; she _wouldn't_ let that happen, Merlin, no. But if Malfoy managed to take everything away from her, there would be nothing left for her to fight for.

So maybe, if she could get her fear under control, she would come to the realization that he was only taking because he had nothing left, and the only way he would win, the only way he would heal, would be if he had everything back that he had before: money; popularity; the love of his mother.

He could get the money—hell, he still _had_ the fortune. And if he worked hard enough, he could get back the popularity.

But nothing, _nothing_, could replace the love of his mother. And he would keep taking from Hermione until he realized that he would not find the love of this mother, but instead, the love of her.

The only question was if she had the love to give him back.

_**-  
-x-x-x  
-**_

**Author's Notes:** BAHH! That was a very fun chapter to write. Originally, many more things revolving around Malfoy were supposed to happen, but I really got carried away with the Harry thing, and I'm glad I did. That whole thing with Harry and Voldemort, there are _huge_ clues in there. Go and look for 'em, eh?

I was so very tempted to include the fight and the nightmares in there, but that's next chapter. So next chapter, you will get: Malfoy starting a very dangerous fight, Hermione going berserk with nightmares, an oblivious Harry, and another glimpse into Malfoy's weak side. MWAHA!

**_PLEASE READ THIS UBER IMPORTANT NOTICE:_** I am going on **hiatus** from now, until **December**. That's right, DECEMBER. I do have a plan for this extremely long absence, though. What I will be doing is **finishing up two of my stories** and having them beta'd. The stories are _**Still So Close to You** _and **_The October Hollow_**. The first is so easy for me to write, and I know how the story is going to end, so it shouldn't be hard for me to have about ten more chapters written. And since I've actually written _The October Hollow_ before, the plot is already mastered, I have chapter outlines, and all I need to do is write it out. Also, I'm **working on an original story** that I will eventually be posting on fictionpress, so that will be done. But after the stories are finished, all I will work on is this story, which I LOVE SO FRIGGIN MUCH, and _House of Drawn Shades_, which is constantly being neglected. I apologize for this sad news, and feel free to pelt me with livid emails.

Anyways, a huge thanks to **Halo of Darkness** for betaing this for me! YAY!

So, **please review!**


	6. Chances

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, simply this plot.

AND THAT BEING SAID, I would appreciate it if THIS STORY WAS **NOT** PLAGIARIZED. Recently, I stumbled across a story copied WORD FOR WORD on HPFF, and I threw a fit. I was NOT happy and I yelled and screamed at loved ones, and I reported them, and left a mean review that was NOT a flame, just an expression of my anger that held no curses, which is a good thing because I curse a lot. Anywho, if you know of anyone that has been plagiarizing this story anywhere, PLEASE inform me! Thanks!

And now, for a very good chapter… sorry about the wait, folks!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

((--Chapter Six--))  
Chances

-

_So maybe, if she could get her fear under control, she would come to the realization that he was only taking because he had nothing left, and the only way he would win, the only way he would heal, would be if he had everything back that he had before: money, popularity, and the love of his mother._

_He could get the money—hell, he still had the fortune. And if he worked hard enough, he could get back the popularity._

_But nothing, nothing, could replace the love of his mother. And he would keep taking from Hermione until he realized that he would not find the love of his mother, but instead, the love of her._

_The only question was if she had the love to give him back._

-

"Your absence is not an excuse for your missing potion, Miss Granger," Snape growled. "And nor can you complete it, as I will not take late assignments. You have failed to finish your obligation, so, therefore, you receive a zero."

Hermione was unable to function for a complete minute, the workings and mechanics of her body and mind shutting down, her brain force quitting everything in fear that this sort of shock would surely cause some sort of explosion.

Snape held out the parchment that held a list of a few ingredients and some meticulous notes that confirmed Hermione's creation of the final potion. A note, written in spiky handwriting that looked as ominous as Snape's presence, tainted the top of her perfect observations.

He shoved it into her hand, the one clutching her bag so tightly that it seemed the corduroy might be sliced in half; her body was still ridged and unmoving, and a tiny little movement could be seen at her mouth; her lip trembling, Hermione was almost brought to tears of shock in front of her professor.

"Now GET OUT," he snarled. Immediately snapping to attention at his order, Hermione shakily looked at the parchment in her hands, her hands twitching at the insubordination of the absence policy ("_students are exempt from class assignments if not present_"), before fleeing the somber room without a sound.

"What did he want?" Ron asked, curious but then alert at Hermione's expression. "Hermione?" he asked delicately.

Standing stock still, she revealed the paper with trembling hands. Ron and Harry moved closer for a better look, and barely concealed their snorting.

Hermione tackled Ron before she started crying and yelled miserably into his shoulder. "He gave me a _zero_!"

Stifling his amusement, Harry shook his head and led them away. Ron comforted her silently, but offered no other solace; seeing as he failed to turn in assignments more frequently than he did his laundry, he didn't seem to understand Hermione's panic.

Then again, she _was_ Hermione after all.

_-x-x-x-_

"Lunch, lunch, lunch, lunch…" Ron was chanting happily as they traveled down the main corridor, his stomach rumbling and eager for food. He gave a great sniff as they reached the Great Hall, and almost started skipping.

"It's something good," he predicted hopefully. "It has to be."

"Anything is good for you," Hermione said dryly. "As long as it's food." Ron agreed, and as they sat down, Ginny slid over from a bench farther down.

Kissing Harry on the check, she inquired, "How was your first day back? No headaches? Any happenings?"

"I wish," Harry grumbled. "Everyone was all concerned and quite annoying. I mean, it wasn't such a big deal. I'm _fine_."

"Of course you are," Ginny agreed and started piling food onto his plate. "Eat all of that and you won't have to go to the hospital wing anytime soon."

"Thanks, _Molly_," Harry said sarcastically. "Seriously, Ginny, I'm _fine_. Ask anyone! Ron, aren't I fine?" Ron, currently stuffing food into his mouth as if there would be no time left in the world to eat, nodded vigorously.

"And Hermione, too. I'm fine, right?" he asked her expectantly.

Hermione looked at Harry and panic rose up from her chest. She abruptly grabbed a biscuit and thrust it into her mouth. "Mmmphmmm," she tried to say, but then shrugged, barely avoiding his question. She eventually ate the food, and then stood up. "I've got to go; Dumbledore gave me a few things to do, and I need to get them done while I still can."

"But you've barely eaten anything!" Ginny said. "…Except that biscuit. How was that, by the way?"

"Wonderful. And I ate heaps of food this morning, so I'm not even hungry," she explained.

Swallowing his food, Ron supplied, "You had a bagel and some coffee."

"Yes, well…" Awkwardly, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be fine; I've got a free period next anyway and I can eat then."

She gave them no time to protest and instead walked away briskly. Truth be told, Hermione was looking forward to being out of Harry's presence. All day long, she had been watching him very carefully, scrutinizing him for signs of Voldemort's control and, very aware of her examination, he decided to interrogate her. Now, there was already tension between them, and Hermione needed to avoid that.

She left the Great Hall in a hurry, just wanting to bury herself in the voluminous library and drown in text, but as Head Girl, she knew there were other things that needed to be accomplished first. She had to start a Class Evaluation Sheet on her Ancient Runes class, and eventually write an essay; it was due at the end of the month and had to be handed in to Professor Dumbledore before October. She also had homework she wanted to get done, and a project in Arithmancy (which she thought was rather stupid, truthfully) _and_ she wanted to brush up on her foreign language.

Rushing up the grand staircase, she was not a foot around the first corner before she ran into somebody. She stumbled and went to apologize, but was aware of the fight that had been instigated because of her clumsiness.

Because Hermione went crashing into Blaise Zabini, he had toppled into Malfoy, and at once the two boys were circling each other likes vicious dogs, ready to kill; lunging at one another, their fighting was physical instead of magical, causing Hermione to stare in horror at the cruelty Malfoy was displaying.

"Stop that!" she shrieked, pulling out her wand at once. "_Petrificus_—"

"_Stop her_!" Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind and Hermione was screaming in angry protest; these onlookers found it amusing to watch Malfoy and Zabini abuse each other and Hermione was the only person who didn't.

"Are you going to _kill_ me, Malfoy?" Zabini shouted, struggling under the pressure of Malfoy's arms; in a headlock, Zabini had no other means of attack besides gibes. "Going to murder me like your _mother_?"

Malfoy's roar of fury was so thunderous Hermione squeaked a little, flinching from the terrible, murderous sound. Eyes gleaming, Malfoy grabbed his opponent by the neck and threw him down; Zabini knew at once how true his jeer could become and moved to escape hastily. Malfoy jumped down on his chest, wrapped his twitching fingers around Zabini's throat, and locked them in a vice grip, eager for revenge.

Coming down from the thrill of terror, Hermione was furious at her captor's laughter and kicked his shins with all of her might. He yelped, and she broke free of his grasp; putting all other thoughts aside, she rushed forward and stopped Malfoy's dangerous temper.

"_Stupefy_!" The power packed into her spell, or rather, the fear of the situation, forced Malfoy to tumble over Zabini and fall into a motionless heap.

Storming over to a gasping Zabini, she grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him up.

"You're a _fool_!" she cried. "Saying things like that to him—"

"Get _off_ of me, you filthy Mudblood!" Zabini growled, shaking off her grip. Hermione snarled at him.

"Detention with McGonagall! In fact, three nights' worth!" she exclaimed. "I'm reporting all of you!" she declared, and then sought out which one was holding her to prevent her from breaking up the fight.

"You especially, Nott!" Theodore Nott, who had been inching away, stopped suddenly. "You're all _imbeciles_, crude, and vile! You get amusement out of watching these two fight each other?" She glared at each of them, before turning to Malfoy.

"I should wake you, but I better not," she murmured to herself, thinking hard. She needed a teacher, more than anything else. Casting a fierce look at the remaining people who were quickly departing in panic of being caught, she hurried down the hallway.

She approached Professor McGonagall once she had entered the great hall. "There's been a fight, Professor. I'm not quite sure what to do, but I know I needed to inform you," she explained.

"Wonderful," McGonagall muttered. "Lead the way, Miss Granger." She followed Hermione out of the hall and up the stairs; at once, they could hear shouting and cries of pain.

Hermione bolted without a second thought, not caring whether McGonagall was keeping up with her or not. Horrified upon viewing the vicious scene again, she started screaming.

"Stop, Malfoy! _STOP_!" Releasing all anger from his body, Malfoy was pounding Zabini over and over, his arm moving swiftly and precisely, hitting its target with full force. Malfoy was heaving, breathing hard as if he had murdered a beast alive, fighting its desperate struggles with the bitter, spiteful anger in his body and ripping it limb from limb, imagining it to be some hated enemy.

"_Impedimenta_!" McGonagall shrieked, her voice strained with panic and shock. Zabini, limp and bleeding severely, fell to the ground and did not move. Hermione pulled out her wand and rushed over to the injured Slytherin, but—

"_I'll kill you_!" Malfoy rammed into her and, ignoring her terrified voice, tried to wrap his hands around her throat like he had to Zabini. McGonagall interfered at once, but Malfoy could not be stopped that easily; Hermione squirmed and fought back, kicking him in sensitive spots and hitting at his face, yet he was relentless.

McGonagall finally drove him back; her wand was at his throat, for nothing else seemed to be working. Hermione was gasping for breath, trying to stop the vertigo that was threatening to overcome her and bring her mind back to reality. Everything inside of her was racing faster than the wind; thundering in her chest, her wild heart disallowed her from breathing and because of that, she could not get a grip on herself.

"You're next, Mudblood!" Malfoy bellowed; darkness lurked in his voice, a sound so terrible and so condemning that Hermione felt a tremor of fear strike her body. Her hands clutched around for support, her body automatically pushing up against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. His eyes, always dripping with malice, gleamed with revenge, the sort where he would, one night, practice stabbing something, perhaps even _himself_, to be accurate enough so that when the time came, stabbing her would be precisely fatal.

"Granger, go get the Headmaster!" McGonagall instructed, breathing shallow herself. "And Snape; as Head of Slytherin, he's got a say in this, too." The professor had stunned Malfoy, which had not caught Hermione's attention due to her hyperventilating.

"Okay," she agreed, her voice high and abnormally tight. She reached the professors faster than she had ever done anything, or maybe she was so lost in shock that she failed to notice how quickly everything was moving.

"McGonagallwantsyou," she slurred, breathing heavily. Everything was moving so quickly, the world spinning beneath her feet before she could find her balance.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore asked. Hermione's knees were weakening and she clutched at the table in support. Blinking hard to relieve herself of the dizziness, she found it harder and harder to open her eyes each time they closed.

"McGonagall…" But the world came to a crashing halt and Hermione fell to the floor, convulsing for a moment. Blackness shrouded her, and an eerie light guided her back to earth.

Someone was hitting her face and they were not being very gentle. Eyes fluttering, she glimpsed many people were standing over her and, to her surprise, Harry was holding her, hitting her cheeks. Without warning, the frightening memory of Harry screaming, his face contorted in fury and brutal anger, his body overcome by Voldemort, came over her.

"_Get away_!" she yelled, terrified beyond sense of logic. She struggled away from him and was oblivious to Harry's looks of confusion as she pulled away in insane fear.

Dumbledore grabbed her by the shoulders and she flinched immediately. "Are you all right, Miss Granger?"

Hermione stared up at the old man, her mind blank and without any information, unable to identify who was talking to her. Then, in a great rush, knowledge flooded her senses, and, with a gasp that forced a shudder through her body, she nodded. "I-I'm sorry. Err…" She forgot about everything, but something came to mind. "Oh, yes. Uh, Professor…" _What's her name_? "Mmm… Mmmc…" It began with an M; she remembered that.

"McGonagall?" someone supplied, confused.

"Yes! Her!" Hermione exclaimed. "Malfoy started a fight, a-and some Slytherin… I-I can't remember, I'm really sorry… he's badly hurt. She's up in the first corridor," Hermione explained, her hands shaking a little. "And she wants someone else too. Head of um… Slytherin."

"All right; perhaps you'd better take a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore suggested. "Do you know who she is?"

"I'll take her," Ron offered at once in response to Hermione's silence. Dumbledore nodded and he and Snape exited the hall quickly, moving without falter.

Ron helped her up, taking care to her trembling arms and supporting her. Harry and Ginny moved forward, but Hermione flinched away from Harry, still haunted by the memory of him.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, backing away from his approach. Harry stopped short, puzzled, and Hermione stared at him, eyes wide with fright, before Ron ushered her away.

A cloud of something, perhaps of resentment, or confusion, or a combination of the both, seeped into his mind. Turning to Ginny, they exchanged the same baffled look, each curious about Hermione's deliriousness.

_-x-x-x-_

Once Hermione gulped down the Calming Draught, she and Ron sat for a long moment on one of the hospital beds together. Hesitantly, he put his arm around her and pulled her closer, and Hermione leaned into him.

"I'm going insane, Ron," she whispered, and closed her eyes with a tired sigh.

"You're not," he murmured, laying his head atop hers. "You've always been insane, you can't go crazier."

Hermione twitched in annoyance at his comment, but said nothing. True, it was like him to say something like that, and she knew it to be perfectly harmless and more a phrase of affection… but after all she had gone through that day, it was just another reminder that she had gone slightly delusional and was terrified of one of her best friends.

She abruptly stood and walked away, leaving Ron rather confused. He jumped and chased after her, but slowed as she came to a stop in front of another bed. Blaise Zabini was unmoving and stitched up under white linen sheets. Signs of bruising and open wounds were apparent, and it reminded Hermione of the fact that Malfoy had attacked her in the same way.

She rubbed her neck uncomfortably, suddenly feeling Malfoy's malevolent fingers digging into her skin. She wondered if she had bruises, (_more bruises to hide_, she thought tiredly) and decided to get some healing paste from the nurse.

"Hey," Ron said, noticing the darkness on her neck. He moved to her, brushing aside her hands before Hermione could protest. "Are these _bruises_?"

Hermione shrunk away and pulled her shirt back over her shoulder, knowing at once that Malfoy had opened a can of worms by attacking her.

"That fight between Malfoy and Zabini, Malfoy wasn't too happy that I stopped him from hurting Zabini…" she muttered. She shrugged and looked at her boyfriend, looking fiery with anger in his eyes. "Don't make too much of it, Ron. I'm just going to get some healing paste for it."

"He hurt you," Ron growled, protectiveness kicking in. Hermione could've rolled her eyes, but, somehow, the moment was too tense to do so. She felt as if one thing she said would lead to the exposure of Malfoy's _other_ attack… and that would just be her death sentence.

"I'm _fine_, Ron; there's no need to worry," Hermione assured quietly. Without waiting for his seething reply, Hermione made her way back to the nurse's office. Knocking politely on the door, she inquired, "Do you have any healing paste? I've got a few bruises…"

It was an uncomfortable statement, but Madam Pomfrey, being as educated as she was, knew not to ask questions right away. Bustling around for the stuff, she measured a flask for Hermione.

"Thanks, I can return the flask by tomorrow, or by tonight," Hermione offered, holding out her hand to take the paste.

"Oh no, I can't let you take this. You'll have to apply it here," Madam Pomfrey restricted, shaking her head. "Now, where are you bruised? If it's in a difficult spot, I can put it on for you."

Hermione stared at the nurse for a second, unsure of what she should say, but then was very aware that Ron was breathing down her neck. Spinning around, she gave him a little shove.

"Maybe you could leave, Ron," Hermione said awkwardly. "If that's all right."

"No it is _not_ all right!" he fumed, his voice squeaking. "Malfoy hurt you and I want to know the extent of his damage!"

Hermione seized him by the arm and dragged him a few meters away. "Listen," Hermione hissed, "I am perfectly _fine_, and you don't need to harp on about this, just to let you _know_."

"I am not _harping_ on about this!" Ron snarled. "I'm _concerned_ and you're misjudging me! I'm just trying to help you!"

"No, _Ronald_, you're not letting me handle this on my own! I'm not _three_, I've faced Voldemort before, I _hurt_ Malfoy before, and this is something so negligible, it need not matter," she huffed, frustrated.

Ron seemed to quake in fury at Hermione's stubbornness and he made several violent gestures before pacing around, and finally, understanding. Still red in the face, he breathed deeply. "Fine. But I'm not leaving," he declared.

"Oh yes, you are," Hermione said. "I've got a bruise or two on my back, and in order to heal those, I have to take off my shirt."

"Well, I don't mind," Ron said with a shrug.

"I _do_!" she spat. "I'll see you at _dinner_, so leave!" They spent a long minute glaring at each other, Hermione more furious and Ron more aggravated, but in the end, she won. He gave a strong huff of breath through his nose, before turning on his heel and storming out.

Once the door had slammed, Hermione approached the nurse. "Sorry," she apologized. Madam Pomfrey nodded and drew up some curtains to give Hermione some privacy. Stepping behind them, the Head Girl unbuttoned her shirt and hesitantly turned her back to the nurse.

"These look awfully painful," Madam Pomfrey murmured, slowly applying the healing medicine to Hermione's tender bruises. She winced each time fingers pressed too hard against the sensitive skin. "How did you get these?"

Hermione was silent, struggling for a response that wouldn't raise too much suspicion. "It's a long story… I can't really shed much light on it, but the Headmaster knows if you're that concerned."

The nurse remained unresponsive for the rest of the time she smoothed the paste over Hermione's back and shoulders. Finally wrapping her up in linen, so the paste wouldn't smudge on her clothing, Hermione was able to leave for the Gryffindor common room.

Lunch was completely over by the time Hermione had meandered her way through the corridors; in fact, they were strangely silent and the clacking of her shoes echoed back to her, faint noises that haunted her mind and kept forcing her to look over her shoulder and move a little faster.

She reached the Gryffindor common room rather quickly, due to her nervousness, and scrambled in right away. Sighing in relief, she plopped down at the fire, sinking back into a chair for a moment before she was caught up in her schoolwork again. Rubbing her eyes, she thought about the quarrel she and Ron just recently had and it made her bristle.

Honestly, she was not _defenseless_; she was _Hermione Granger_, for Merlin's sake! She could very well handle any situation that came along, and she could damn _well_ take care of herself! Ron _knew_ that, but she knew his protectiveness was going to be something to worry about.

Ron was so… enigmatic. He was predictable, but sometimes, she couldn't decipher anything he did for the life of her. He was normal and warm-hearted, but there were just those times when—

"Hermione?" Startled, she jumped about a mile before looking around for this disembodied voice.

Harry sat down at the sofa, dropping his book bag on the cushion. He smiled at Hermione, and she returned it very uneasily, finding the force of her muscles hard to control.

"So, are you all right from earlier?" he asked, pulling out a few things to write with.

Hermione nodded and was quiet for a moment. "I was just frightened is all. And… slightly delirious. My apologies, Harry," she said, smiling with apprehension.

"What's got you frightened?"

"Oh, well… Malfoy and Zabini were fighting and I broke it up, but then Malfoy charged at me when I wasn't expecting it," she laughed, hoping that Harry wouldn't be as concerned as Ron was.

"Ron told me you were hurt," Harry said in a low voice.

Hermione sagged in disappointment. _Another one to convince_, she thought wearily. "I'm _fine_; I've got paste and bandages and I'm all set, thanks," she supplied shortly. "Ron likes to be overdramatic about things, you know that."

"Well, he was just concerned—"

"Oh, don't you give me that, too," Hermione snapped, now feeling very unpleasant. "He _knows_ I can take care of myself, and it's only because I'm his _girlfriend_ that he's acting all concerned." She sighed and crossed her arms angrily.

"He's got reason, Hermione! That's what you're supposed to _do_ for your significant other, look out for them," Harry growled. "Why can't you just _appreciate_ that?"

Something very strange happened, all of a sudden, and Hermione felt a quiver go through her body. Looking up at her friend, she saw Harry staring intensely at her, an almost _contemptuous_ look on his face… and something was not quite right with his eyes. They looked—almost—haunted, in a way; possessed, even.

And she blinked for a long second, hoping to shake away the fear that was creeping up on her, before all she could see was Harry screaming, howling in fury, his eyes glowing and crimson, serpentine, overwhelming… _terrifying_.

Hermione snatched up her things and stumbled to the portrait to the Head common rooms, her heart racing in her chest with unease of Harry's odd behavior.

"Wait!" Harry latched onto her arm, and spun her around. Hooded and sharp, Harry's eyes were not his own, for scarlet was quickly seeping through the emerald of his irises.

"Let _go_!" she shrieked. Speeding through the portrait hole and slamming it before Harry could get through, she leaned up against the portal and huddled on it in fear, trying not to whimper and feel so cravenly.

"_Hermione_!" Harry was pounding ferociously on the portrait and Hermione backed away from it at once, trying not to trip over her shaking feet. Heart fluttering, she turned around to reach for the sofa—yet in a moment, she was falling backwards again in horror.

Malfoy was sitting rigidly in the armchair, his face carved with dislike. Hatred flowed from his eyes, glowing, sharp, and when his lips lifted in a snarl, his scar seemed to take over his face, a giant claw that contorted his whole image, the most dangerous part of him coming alive.

It was just a moment before Hermione found herself slamming her own bedroom door and locking it a hundred different ways, breathing so hard she was wheezing, and shaking so badly she couldn't even lock her door manually. Eventually, she stumbled to her bed and collapsed. The rush of reality finally crashed into her, and it was not long before she was sobbing into her pillow weakly.

_-x-x-x-_

"This one?" Ginny asked, holding out the book. Hermione shot a glance at it, and shook her head. Sighing, Ginny picked out another one. "_This_ one?"

"You're terrible at picking out texts, Ginny," Hermione mused. "Don't you have a system or something? I mean, really, some of the encyclopedias in here are quite sketchy. You just can't seem to trust them…"

"They're not the only sketchy things around here," Ginny muttered, casting a look at Hermione.

"What was that?"

"_Nothing_!" Ginny sang brightly. Debating on two books--one that was so musty it must've been untouched for a century, and one so new that it was hard to _open_--Ginny chose both of them. "These?"

"Very good," Hermione approved. Deflating in relief, the youngest Weasley sat down and opened to the index of the newer volume.

Flipping to the page, Ginny decided to subtly interrogate Hermione; lately, the brainy girl had become reserved, and well, twitchy. She never stopped moving, never stopped looking over her shoulder, and she was just going, going, _going_.

"So how are you and my brother?" she asked casually. Hermione grunted. "I understand."

"Ginny, I didn't _say_ anything."

"Ah, but I've lived with men my whole life. Grunts and snorts are the language they speak; it's called Simplicity, while _ours_ is called Complication," Ginny informed her, sounding misty and wise.

"Har har," Hermione said sarcastically, giving Ginny a dry look. "We've just been fighting this past week or so. You know how he is."

"I know how you are, too," Ginny commented, just loud enough for her friend to hear.

Halting in her writing, Hermione gave Ginny a long stare. "And _what_ is that supposed to mean?"

"You're shutting down on him," Ginny said without hesitation. "Something happened to you and he wants to help, yet you won't let him because you don't want to seem weak."

Hermione gaped at the clever redhead, finding it quite irritating that her declaration hit the nail directly on the head; Hermione had been musing on why she and Ron fought as they did, and that was one of her conclusions.

"Look," Hermione said flatly after a long pause. "Your brother is just an annoying, overprotective jerk sometimes, and I resent that."

"Get used to it, Hermione. Now that you're dating him, he's going to be hounding you more than he stalks me. Not only can Harry and I see each other now without him breathing over our shoulders, but we have plenty of unsupervised time, thanks to you," Ginny said happily. Hermione grimaced at her implication. "All his attention is on you, making sure you're all right, checking that you're not having an affair, and just _trying_ to be the best that he can."

"Which is what's aggravating me," Hermione sighed. Ginny nodded in agreement. "He's on my case about _everything_! First it was the fight, and now he's following me around whenever he can get the chance."

"What fight?" Ginny asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, dreading the fact that she now had to explain it _again_.

"Malfoy and Zabini got into a fight, and I had to break it up. So, Malfoy got angry and jumped on me, and I got hurt," Hermione sighed offhandedly, now taking down notes without faltering. "I had a few bruises and Ron made it out to be Armageddon."

"Malfoy's pretty scary," Ginny said, chewing on her quill.

"You're telling me," Hermione muttered, feeling chills at the thought of his rage, especially directed at her.

"So, Ron doesn't have any idea about… the thing you're doing, does he?" Ginny inquired in a low voice. Glancing around, Hermione shook her head.

"No idea. He'd be livid…" She shook her head at the thought. "He can't know; he won't. I won't let him."

"Speaking of which, any progress lately?" Ginny asked. Hermione frowned and looked away, and shook her head finally.

"I can't, really. Anytime I'm in the same room as him, whether there are others around us or not, he jumps down my throat and tries to scare me… and it works," Hermione admitted quietly, rubbing her neck in embarrassment. However, she knew Ginny would understand.

"What's he done?" Ginny Weasley questioned curiously.

"He just… attacked me this one time, late at night. But really, besides the fight I broke up a week ago, that's it," she explained.

"Why late at night?" Ginny asked again.

Hermione shook her head, now fully aware of the corner she'd been backed into. "Ginny, I've got to go. I have… things," Hermione said pathetically. Ginny gave her a look, and Hermione slumped back into her chair. "I can't _tell _you," she whispered.

"Did Dumbledore restrict it?" Hermione swallowed the overwhelming fear in her chest and shook her head slowly. "Did… did _Malfoy_ restrict it?" Refusing to give an affirmative answer, Hermione sat uncomfortably under Ginny's gaze, but eventually cupped her forehead in her hand.

"Hermione, what happened? What did you do?" Hermione shook her head, mumbling incoherently and stayed silent to Ginny's inquiry.

"Not allowed," was the only mumble Ginny could distinguish.

"Hermione, you _have_ to tell me!" Ginny hissed. She grabbed her friend's wrist, and jerked her head up. Hermione stared at the redhead, and shook her head slowly. "Just… give me a clue."

"I can't… I won't. I'm already in trouble, and—"

"Wait, _wait_. You're in _trouble_? With _him_? How could he possibly do that to you, make you feel like you're in trouble?"

Hermione stared down at her notes for a long time, before she forced herself to speak. "He hurt me, Ginny." It was surprising to hear her own voice so high and tight; there was a knot in her throat that shouldn't have been there, but was so painful she couldn't speak without releasing the tension she had on herself. Tears had sprung to her eyes and she wiped them away in frustration. "I won't let that happen again."

Ginny looked incredibly worried; her brow was creased, and suspicion was in her eyes. "Why did he do it, Hermione?"

Ginny's voice was oddly powerful and soothing at the same time, and Hermione found herself responding before she could stop herself. "I caught him crying." Slapping her hands over her mouth as if she had whispered the ultimate way to destroy all humankind, or had released a terrible plague, Hermione looked terrified.

Ginny had disbelief written all over her face. "That's _it_?"

However, there was a crash behind them, and Hermione's blood froze inside of her; not another breath entered her body, and it seemed like a Dementor was hovering over her, draining the happiness and calmness from her body painfully, molecule by molecule.

Slowly, she folded her arms and placed her head into the crook of her arms, hoping for a moment's solace from the hell she was steadily driving into. Now… she could only wait.

_-x-x-x-_

Finally, at eleven o'clock, Hermione returned to her dormitory, tired and weary from her patrol. It had been a week since the incident at the library, the dangerous uncloaking of Malfoy's condemning secret, and so far, nothing had happened to her.

Every night, she had been cautious and obsessed with locking up her room, keeping all possibility of _death_ out of her chambers. Yet, all Malfoy seemed to do was glare at her each moment he could, never coming near her and never physically threatening her.

That being said, her defenses were still alert and cautious, but Hermione was willing to test the waters now. Weary and wanting just to drop into bed like a log and sleep for all eternity, she made her way up to her room, yawning, and flicked on the lights. Locking the door, she pulled off her cloak and dropped it on her chair. She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her socks, and took off the ridiculous tie that took her so long to do in the morning.

She was just about to pull off her vest, but instead, she stopped. Something didn't feel quite right and even in her drowsiness, she could sense it in her bones.

She hesitated and then turned a slow circle, inspecting every surface of her room. Nothing was out of place, nothing out of the ordinary. Still though, she knew better than to ignore her gut; quickly gathering up her nightclothes, she examined her room once more and entered her bathroom.

Ten minutes later she came out, hair up in a messy bun, face washed, and changed into fresh sleeping attire. She put her uniform in the heap of clothes she wanted to wash and just stood there, listening.

She couldn't _hear_ anything, and she certainly could see anything either. But there was a nagging feeling within her and it was starting to frighten her. Wanting desperately to sleep, but reluctant to turn off the lights, she settled for reading.

Snug under her comforter, she opened her text and started reading about the use of adjectives in the Latin language. Before long, though, she had fallen asleep.

Her sleep light and misty, Hermione was groggy and only dozing, being pulled back and forth between the hazy reality and the welcoming slumber. She wanted to groan out in frustration, needing this night to be long and refreshing more than anything else; she seemed to slam awake as she knocked over her volume, the heavy noise of its fall waking her.

She growled and dropped back against her pillows, sinking back into comfort and sweet, blissful dreams. A thought occurred to her that awoke her within an instant: she had left her lights on… and they were turned off.

She jolted awake instantly, but by then, it was too late. A moment was all she needed to register that someone, _Malfoy_, was hovering over her, and despite the darkness, she could feel his sharp glare like a knife to her throat.

Her scream echoed the room as they suddenly became tangled in a mess of aggressive limbs. Snarling, Malfoy tackled her and pinned down her hands with his knees. He slammed a hand to her mouth to muffle her terrified screaming, and biting down on a sheath, ripped out a sharp, luminous looking blade that flashed in the darkness.

Her struggled ceased for a moment, her body still in shock at the weapon Malfoy wielded. Breath escaping her body and logic leaking from her mind, her eyes were wide as she looked at the fatal object, seeing it but looking through it.

The world came crashing down on her brain and, for a moment, she felt her heart stop and knew she was dead. Nothing mattered, not Malfoy, nor her grades, not the war, not _anything_, and all was grey and frigid. The way he was holding the object, poised and ready to plunge with deadly accuracy, shrieked into her mind, protesting her staring and her waiting, roared orders at her heart to work, to race against time before Malfoy could do any serious damage.

She started trembling, but not furiously struggling. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping not to cry, or to whimper, but instead die with dignity. She sucked in a sharp breath against his hand as he pressed the cool blade against the skin of her neck, filling her with an ethereal presence.

"I told you, didn't I?" he whispered fiercely, sounding as if he wanted to laugh insanely. Slowly, he took his hand off of her mouth, but she knew better than to move; any attempt to escape him would be the cause of her death.

"But you wouldn't listen," he hissed. "Would you? _WOULD YOU?_?" he roared, jerking the blade dangerously, wanting an answer from her.

"I-I'm sorry," she croaked, barely controlling the trembling in her body and voice.

"You're _sorry_?" He replaced the blade with his hand, and was digging his fingernails into her jaw, prying her mouth open to hear her inaudible whimpering. He brought his face very close to hers, leaning over her immobilized body; the cold bitterness of his eyes betrayed his vicious façade. "_Sorry_ isn't going to do _anything_, Mudblood. Do you actually think, for a single fucking _moment_, that _sorry_ means anything to me? After all the apologetic _lies_ from the Wizengamot, the damned Headmaster, _everyone_…" He broke off, his words delicately hard, as if he were applying as much pressure into speaking as he could, trying ever-so-much not to shatter himself like glass. "Do you actually think I _care_?"

She was forcing herself not to cry, willing all the panic of death looming over her to go away, to never come back. "P-Please just give me a s-second chance. D-Don't kill me," she managed to whisper, broken, dry sobs slipping between her words.

He said nothing, but looking up fearfully into his eyes allowed her a chance to see something she would not see again for a long, long time. He was still gripping her jaw with all the strength in his body, his face was still distorted by a vicious, resentful look; yet, he was distant, gone, drowned in some forlorn memory. He looked away from her, and fury drained slowly from his place just to be filled up with misery.

Time lapsed into silence, and Hermione could only contain the quivering of suspense in her body, the dread of his crucial answer. She could see his internal struggle, the muscles become taut in his jaw, then loose, after a long pause. She was stunned, for a moment, when his eyes flitted close and the power that he seemed to radiate simply… disappeared.

But then he was hauling her off her pillow, seizing the collar of her nightshirt up towards him so she was forced to crane her neck. Again looking fierce, and bearing his teeth, he gave her a cruel message that equaled the favorable answer. "I could kill you in an _instant_, Granger, don't ever forget that. If you _ever_ attempt to reveal me again, I'll do the very same thing to you," he snarled. He sounded seething and brutal, but she could see the weary, depressed person that lay quivering under his skin. "_Do you understand_?" He shook her so hard, so vigorously that it strained her neck, cracking her bones and making them ache.

Without a moment to let her answer, he snatched the knife he had with him and hurled it across the room; like lightening, the sound of glass shattering startled Hermione, and she was shocked to see his knife planted in a photo of herself and her family, landing directly on her chest, illuminated by the moonlight. He turned back to her slowly and the dead, stony look that filled his eyes seemed to explain how ruthless he really was.

Her heart thundered in her ears and she was unaware that he had finally gotten up and left, slamming her door so sharply that it seemed to shake the darkness. The absence of him, the knife, his hazardous wrath, left a startling, gaping hole inside of her that she was falling into. The feeling she had when something had seeped into her veins and ignited her blood was gone. Nothing eerie left to ponder, no strange, inexplicable presence, just… emptiness.

She tried to handle the conflicting, hurricane like emotions that were steadily reaching their pinnacle; she didn't want to hyperventilate or cry in shock, become mute or deaf from the force of her own domineering emotions. The panic, the alarming trepidation that rose up from a deep well and boiled over, like hot water in a kettle, screaming shrilly until someone finally noticed, was enclosing her mind in a labyrinthine cage that she wouldn't get out of so easily.

Grabbing a pillow for dear life, attempting to stem her fear that caused this incessant shaking, she buried her face in the cloth and yelled everything out of her, so loud and so long that it hurt her entire body.

But it was over now; she could sleep. She would be safe, and her dreams might be filled with nightmares, but at least she knew that they weren't real. They weren't… they weren't… _but they were_…

Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think. Nightmares, she knew, would be coming that night. She was aware that there wasn't a thing to stop them, but she could still believe.

Still… believing was becoming a lot harder than it used to be.

_**-  
-x-x-x-  
-**_

**Author's Notes:** Damn a lot of stuff happened! It was an action filled chapter, I have to admit, and I just couldn't stop myself! I loved writing it though, and it's a welcome break from the story I've been trying to finish. Had I not had to baby-sit, this chapter would've taken me a total of two days to finish, because for this story, everything just came out and gaaahhh I had fun writing this.

Thanks to the wonderful **Halo of Darkness **for betaing this for me! Gosh, she must get fed up with my irregular updates!

So, interesting huh? Please keep **reading and reviewing!**


	7. Another Little Problem

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, just this plot and the things along with it!

Anyway, I got positive reviews for last chapter, so I hope you all enjoy this one just as much… probably not though, lol.

**OY, READ THIS!** As I have finally determined the exact ending (I like to improvise!) I have come to the conclusion that this story needs to have some certain things, one: because I am not creative enough and two: because there's only one good excuse for Narcissa's death.

That being said, this story is **post** HBP, **BUT** is **AU!** Everything that happened in HBP has happened, or, rather, will happen. I'm sticking to the plotline of Jo's books, but, however, I am just switching the events around and adding some stuff in. Let's see how this goes down with the mods!

I want the Horcrux tension to still be on, I want the fighting, the showdown, ALL OF IT, so I'm making this change. Don't like it, than don't read the story. Most of the spoilers won't be until much later on, so don't worry!

So now, enjoy!

**Forever and Always  
By Darkwing731**

**-**

((--Chapter Seven--))  
Another Little Problem

-

_Grabbing a pillow for dear life, attempting to stem her fear that caused this incessant shaking, she buried her face in the cloth and yelled everything out of her, so loud and so long that it hurt her entire body. _

_But it was over now; she could sleep. She would be safe, and her dreams might be filled with nightmares, but at least she knew that they weren't real. They weren't… they weren't… but they were… _

_Shivering, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think. Nightmares, she knew, would be coming that night. She was aware that there wasn't a thing to stop them, but she could still believe. _

_Still… believing was becoming a lot harder than it used to be. _

-

_"I'm sick of this! You cannot force your dreams on him, the fate you did not have, when he's barely of age!"_

_The screaming left an eerie echo, louder and soft, like a crashing wave that sent ripples through the air, shaking everything and distorting the truth._

_"You don't know what you're doing."_

_"And neither do you!"_

_Everything seemed to pull back, all at once, into a tiny spot in space, huddling like a shivering creature, emaciated and defenseless; like a star, on the brink of death, shining vainly…_

_"Stop it! Stop it! I hate this, I hate you!"_

_And whatever darkness enveloped them succumbed to light, light so powerful and strong it burned all those who looked upon it, scarred the innocent and condemned the sinners, unable to hide the darkness within them._

_"DRACO!"_

The screaming that filled the air around her, crackling the night with terror, was coming from her own mouth. Hermione was jolted awake out of the terrifying nightmare, pulled from the depths of hell like a fish out of water, gasping in shock and trying to reach a state of being where she understood what was going on.

She realized after a minute or so that she was huddled on the floor, shaking, and gasping into the side of her comforter. Trembling, she weakly pulled herself up onto her bed and stared into the inky darkness of her room, thinking about the dream and trying vainly to ignore the fear that still lurked in her mind.

The nightmare _had_ to be of Narcissa's death, there was no other explanation for it; the flash must've been the Killing Curse, borne from the wand of… _Draco Malfoy_. Hermione feel nauseated all of a sudden, moaning into her hands and shivering uncontrollably.

Her fingers moved without her consent to the spots on her face that he had abused, leaving finger-sized bruises and cuts from his nails that would surely be noticed if she failed to do something to hide them. Dragging them over her neck, she was sure she could feel a scar, a lingering reminder that a knife had been pressed savagely against her throat mere hours ago.

_But she had lived._

The concept that he had spared her, despite his raging anger, his bitter attitude towards everything now, that _he had spared her_, seemed unreal. It seem so insane, so _unorthodox_, that she trembled a little, a sprinkle of every intensity she had ever felt in her life rising up inside of her, heart pounding like deep throb of a base, threatening to break her ribcage. She started laughing, quietly, insanely, into her hands, and the absurdity of it all, that she was actually _alive_, turned her swiftly recognized joy into gratefully broken sobs.

There was nothing more terrifying than a person already emptier than a seashell, with not even an echo inside of it, who felt as if the world _owed_ him peace, trying to reap revenge. She would never again experience someone that had lost _everything_, who was willing to take everything away from another, despite the little iota of understanding that retribution would never bring any good back.

Hermione wiped her eyes, sniffling, seeing little shards of Malfoy on the brink of slicing her throat in her eyes, and slowly got up, wanting to write the event down. She knew what she had to do, and tears would not delay it.

_-x-x-x-_

Hermione was one of the first Gryffindors up, and she waited patiently in the common room until her friends finally came down. She was tired, yes, but she felt that she needed to speak with Ginny more than anything else. She had a brilliant idea and the redhead would know how to make it happen.

Pulling out her timetable, Hermione was looking over her daily schedule when there was a tapping sound at the window. Looking up, she saw an owl perched impatiently on the ledge, and she hastened to get up and let it in.

Dropping a letter into her hand, the owl squawked and left; Hermione opened it carefully and slowly read the loopy handwriting.

_Dear Ms Granger,_

_I request that you come to my office shortly before lunch. I wish to have a meeting with both you and Mr. Malfoy, and I have some questions I would like to ask you. Enclosed with this letter is a pass for the class you'll be leaving._

_Thank you,_

_Headmaster Dumbledore _

Hermione stood for a moment, wondering what on earth Dumbledore could want with her and Malfoy as Head Boy and Girl so shortly after school began. Shrugging, she put the letter away and decided that there were more pressing matters that had to be dealt with.

Ginny was the first to arrive, just as Hermione had hoped for, and the brunette pulled her aside. "I need your help with something," Hermione said in a low voice. "See, I've realized that—"

"You've got bruises all alone the side of your face," Ginny interrupted rather bluntly. "Your base is horrible too, by the way. You can borrow some of my make-up."

"Thanks," Hermione said sarcastically. "But I had nothing else."

"I can only assume this is Malfoy's doing," Ginny commented dryly, gesturing to the dark spots on Hermione's face.

"He… we fought again last night," Hermione summarized uncomfortably, and Ginny nodded. "Do you think Ron will notice?"

"Are you willing to take the chance?" Ginny asked.

"Not at all, but Madam Pomfrey was suspicious the last time I asked for healing paste, and she knew the bruises on my back weren't my doing. She's going to think I'm being abused if I keep asking for the stuff," Hermione muttered worriedly.

"Well, then come upstairs and I'll put better base on," Ginny said, tugging at her sleeve; she led them upstairs to the girls' dormitory. "And what did you want? You said you needed my help."

"Yes, that," Hermione remembered. "I need to learn how to fight."

Ginny turned suddenly and gave her a strange look. "You're going to lose every fight you pick with Malfoy, so I wouldn't instigate anything," she warned.

"I _know_ that, I'm just looking to defend myself," Hermione said irritably. "The next time he attacks me, I want to be ready, and I don't want anymore bruises that I have to hide."

"I'll see what I can do."

When the entered the bathroom, Ginny locked them in and had Hermione wash off the base she had on. Grimacing at the painful looking bruises, Ginny dabbed proper-colored base onto Hermione's bruises until they were nearly invisible.

"Ron won't notice, trust me," Ginny assured.

"Good; he's already angry with me, and I don't want him moaning on about this, too," Hermione said.

They left and descended down the spiral staircase, where Harry and Ron were waiting. Ron looked surprised to see his girlfriend, but smiled at her when she kissed him on the cheek as a greeting.

"Up there for a particular reason?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Not really," Hermione said coolly. "Do I need a reason?" Ginny smirked at Hermione's words, and Harry shook his head without argument.

Hermione ignored the abrupt flash of the memory of Harry looking dangerous, eyes gleaming red, from the day before. She held her head high and hitched her bag over her shoulder. Chatting nonchalantly, Harry and Ginny led them down to breakfast, hand–in-hand while Ron and Hermione spoke quietly behind them.

"So did Madam Pomfrey get rid of those bruises?" Ron asked, and Hermione stiffed.

"Yes."

"Were they very bad?"

"Not really." Ron was silent for a few minutes, not looking at her, and Hermione was waiting for him to ask the one thing that was bound to come.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly after a minute. "All I wanted to do was help, anyway."

"Because I didn't need your help," Hermione snapped. "They weren't terribly fatal, and besides, it was my fault that I got in the way of Malfoy when he was going around and hurting everyone."

"_Your_ fault?" Ron spluttered. "He _hurt_ you! It is _not_ your fault!"

"Keep it _down_, Ron," Hermione hissed. "You are making too much of this; I'm perfectly fine, and it's never going to happen again. Leave it alone, all right?" Ron glared at her but said nothing else.

Breakfast was tense, but Hermione expected nothing less. Ginny was quieter than usual, but then again, she was doing homework in-between bites. Tired of sitting next to Ron, livid as he was, and Harry, who seemed utterly confused, Hermione stood. "Going to the library," she announced, and left before anyone could say anything else. Truth be told, she really wasn't going to the library; she was just leaving to get away from the huge row that was bound to happen between the infamous trio.

Walking down the steps of the castle, she meandered around the paths and headed for Herbology, her first class of the day. However, Ron seemed to have followed her and caught up with her easily.

"You're being stupid," he yelled at her, trying to catch up as she walked quickly away.

"Don't be a hypocrite, Ron," she called over her shoulder. "It doesn't suit you."

"You're still being stupid," he said angrily, grabbing her arm and turning her around. She gave him a withering look. "You're not making any sense."

"You never make any sense," she retorted, not wanting to fight with him. She turned and started walking.

"You said that it was your fault!" Ron yelled at her. "He _hurt_ you!"

"I'm well aware of this, and handling the situation fine, Ronald," she spat, whipping around to face him. "We've already had this conversation!"

"Then why don't you report him, Hermione!" Ron said, ignoring her last statement. "How can something like this escape your love of rules? Doing something like that—"

"Ron, drop it!" she snarled.

"No, I won't! You obviously said you can handle it, but you refuse to tell a teacher! And you're treating me like I'm bloody four for absolutely no reason. Don't ignore my help because you can't do something for once, Hermione!" Ron warned. "Because being too proud doesn't suit you very well."

Hermione looked at him for a long, hard moment and her eyes narrowed; she knew he was entirely right and she hated him just for that. Giving him an icy look, she growled "_Go_—_away_," and left before he could utter another word.

Harry seemed to be uninformed of Ron and Hermione fighting again, because he stood between them, appearing very confused but wise enough not to ask about it. He was, however, eager not to be Hermione's partner as the class fought a sort of mutated fly trap, knowing that she would complain irritably until he wanted to strangle himself, so he forced Hermione into finding another partner when he paired up with Ron.

Although she ended up with Justin Finch-Fletchley, they actually made a good pair, talking about movies and music and such; she was grateful that he was Muggle-born, for it made it that much easier to talk to him. She almost forgot about Ron while she was partnered with him, until she realized Ron was glaring at her endlessly throughout the class, that is.

"Ron seems a bit mad," Justin observed, glancing between Ron and Hermione.

Trying to put a clamp around the fly trap's mouth, Hermione frowned and rolled her eyes. "We're fighting," she said shortly, snatching the wild plant and holding it down.

Justin took the clamp from her hands and fastened the mouth shut, and, pulling the safety goggles off, he wiped some dirt from his cheek. "I doubt you'd answer me if I inquired why," he said, and she laughed and nodded. "I'm sure he'll get over it. You two seem to fight a lot."

"I've noticed," Hermione said dryly, writing a few notes down about the struggling of the plant. "We seem to do that more than anything else."

"That's not very healthy," Justin said bluntly.

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"Then why not apologize?"

"Because I'm right!" Justin chuckled, but said nothing else.

In her next class, History of Magic, Hermione sat on the opposite side of the room from Harry and Ron--next to a Ravenclaw--and every now and then looked up at Ron, who was still, not surprisingly, glaring daggers at her. She gave him a cocky sort of look once or twice, and somehow she couldn't find an explanation to justify why.

By the time Hermione was sitting in the class before lunch, she had almost forgotten about Dumbledore requesting her presence in a meeting. Handing over a note to her professor, Hermione moved swiftly to Dumbledore's office, supplying the password at the gargoyle and going apprehensively up his magnificent staircase.

Knocking on the door, Hermione entered with Dumbledore's permission and, evading Malfoy's cold eyes, sat down in the available chair.

"I trust your professor let you leave without argument," Dumbledore said and Hermione nodded. "Good; had it been Professor Snape, I doubt you would be here." He smiled good-naturedly and Hermione returned it.

"Now, the reason I called you here, Miss Granger, is because Mr. Malfoy and I have reached an understanding," he said and paused. Hermione couldn't determine whether his silence was for dramatic effect or for the sake of finding the right words.

"He has decided to withdraw from his position of Head Boy, and being Head Girl, it is your right to know that."

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the Headmaster, and her jaw dropped a little. "But it's not even October yet!" she said disbelievingly. "Why w_—_?" But as she turned to Malfoy, she immediately shut her mouth. "Never mind, I'm sure you have professional reasons," she said quickly.

"However, Miss Granger, that does not mean his burdens will fall on you; I've already selected another student to fill in for him."

"May I ask whom?" Hermione inquired.

"Most certainly: Justin Finch-Fletchley, as he and Mr. Malfoy here were neck and neck when it came to grades and knowledge of the rules." Hermione tried not to snort; she sincerely doubted Malfoy had _ever_ known the rules.

"Now, that is all I wanted to talk to both of you about, so, Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go." Malfoy shoved himself out of his chair and left, slamming the door behind him, and Hermione couldn't help but wince a little.

She dwelled on the thought of him, scary and dangerous, poised above her with a sharp knife, and the image of him seemed so distorted and out of place. Before the murder, she could see Malfoy clearly like that, but ever since he had become so… miserable and depressed, she could imagine him doing nothing more than sobbing.

"Miss Granger, I actually have something I need to discuss with you," Dumbledore said, interrupting her thoughts. He did not sound very happy, to say the least, and instead looked almost… disappointed.

"Madam Pomfrey has brought to my attention that you had some very painful bruises," he said quietly. "Do explain."

Shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, Hermione started. "Well, there was a night when I was up very late, in the kitchen, and when I came back out to return to bed I, err, intruded on Malfoy crying. I can understand that he was very upset, but he was really furious about it; he sort of threw me about, yelled, and went to bed."

_That was the truth… mostly_, Hermione thought anxiously. Dumbledore was sure to probe deeper into the event, though, and he would most likely press for details of Malfoy's attack.

She was right. "How, specifically, did he hurt you?" the headmaster asked.

Hermione looked away for a moment and rubbed her arm. "Erm, he dug his nails into both my arms and shoulders," she answered.

"And?"

"And threw me against the staircase," she said quietly. He titled his head forward, giving her an expectant look. "Twice," she muttered, and flushed, ashamed; Ron was right about this, she should've told someone that Malfoy had hurt her.

"Miss Granger, I know that you accepted my mission while being well aware of the consequences you would face. This is one of them; Mr. Malfoy will do just about anything to evade you, whether it be hurting you or even attempting to kill you—" Hermione squirmed in her seat at his words. "I know that you are willing to undergo his anger, but I do not expect you to end up hurting more than he."

Hermione nodded, looking away from his gaze.

"Then you must find a way to make him weak where he is strong," Dumbledore said wisely. "He must heal, but he needs to be without protection to do so. Armor, after all, only blocks the wounds beneath it."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, and she understood what the headmaster meant. Dumbledore nodded, and she took that as a gesture of finality.

Standing up, she asked the headmaster a last question. "Sir, when are you telling Justin?"

"At lunch. I plan to send him an owl after you leave, and he should receive it in the middle of his meal," Dumbledore responded. "Now, you're missing all the good food. Surely it will all be eaten if you don't hurry along."

Smiling at his amused look, Hermione left for lunch, thinking. _Make him weak where he is strong… I was planning to do that anyway,_ Hermione thought to herself as she descended the staircase. _Let's see what Ginny has to say about this._

_-x-x-x-_

"I think Dumbledore is an absolutely insane genius," Ginny decided after Hermione had informed her of the headmaster's instructions. "But I also think that he didn't mean just to fight back literally."

"How can I fight back otherwise?" Hermione asked, piling food onto her plate.

"Sympathy, pity," Ginny suggested. "After everything that he's done to you, how are you supposed to act? Scared and cruel?" Hermione considered this. "Show him kindness, make him second-guess you."

Hermione savored the thought of doing some charity for Malfoy, and the thought did not disturb her. In fact, Malfoy did not disturb her, nor did he seem as virulent anymore; after living through his lethal anger, she was alive, and she had experienced the worst of him. Getting through to him would be easier now that she wasn't as frightened.

"I know what I can do," Hermione said suddenly. Her mind raced at the idea, searching for flaws and any way to perfect her plan even more. "It's perfect, except…"

Her words were interrupted as an owl came swooping into the Great Hall; delivery of mail was not uncommon, but it was unusual during any other meal except breakfast. Hermione watched the bird drop down to the Hufflepuff table, releasing a letter onto Justin Finch-Fletchley's plate.

The seventh-year opened the letter and read it, all expression leaving his face until he was staring at the parchment in shock. Friends were reading it over his shoulder, smiling and laughing, and cheering him on. He finally began to laugh wildly.

"What's he on about?" Ginny asked, watching the Hufflepuff yell in victory.

Hermione smirked. "He's just been promoted to Head Boy," she said simply, and Ginny gasped.

"What about the whole 'Malfoy Mission' thing?" she asked at once.

"I think I've got it taken care of," Hermione said in a low voice, watching Justin get up and dance around. He turned around, spotted Hermione, and headed straight for her.

"By doing what?" Ginny demanded.

"You'll see," she said out of the corner of her mouth, and then stood to greet Justin. "I see you've gotten the letter."

"This is amazing!" Justin cried, and suddenly seized Hermione into a euphoric embrace. Letting go of her, he said, "I've always wanted to be Head Boy, and my parents too, since I never got to go to Eton."

"Well, congratulations," Hermione said, smiling. He grinned at her. "Listen, I was wondering, do you have a free period today?"

"Err, yeah, right before dinner," he answered. "Why?"

"Come by the head tower then, as I've got one then too. There are just a few things I want to talk to you about, being the new Head Boy and all," she said. Justin smiled broadly at her.

"I'll be there," he promised, and then left back to his proper table.

"I hope I can make this work," Hermione said anxiously, watching him absent-mindedly. Would Justin accept the idea she would present to him? Turning back to her friend, she saw that Ginny had an odd look on her face. "What?"

"He fancies you," the redhead deduced. Hermione scoffed, flabbergasted at the idea.

"No, he does _not_, Ginevra," Hermione said, and Ginny winced.

"Never _ever_ call me that!"

"Then don't tell me Justin fancies me, because he doesn't."

"Does."

"Doesn't!"

The rest of Hermione's day, besides Ginny giving her looks in the hallway, was rather uneventful. Ron now had Harry filled in, and unlike Ron, Harry somewhat understood where Hermione was coming from.

Approaching her, he said, "Ron is just worried, you know."

"I am well aware, Harry," Hermione sighed. "But he's got to let me do things the way I want."

"Yes, I know that," Harry agreed. "But think about it: Ron had no idea, and when he found out that you were hurt, all you did was call him an idiotic fool and brush it off. How does that seem to you?"

"Horrible," Hermione muttered. "He's got to trust me, though; I know what I'm doing."

"Sometimes you say that, but you really have no idea," Harry said quietly. Hermione gaped at him. "Just think about it."

"You cannot honestly stand there and tell me to swallow my pride when you never do!" she fumed. "Every time something goes wrong you shut up like a bloody clam, and Ron and I can never do anything about it!"

"That's different, I—"

"Enlighten me again how it's different," she interrupted, eyes narrowed. Harry remained silent. "Exactly. So keep your hypocritical nose out of it, Harry."

"Are you on your monthly?" Harry asked rudely. "Because you're being a right bitch." Before Hermione could splutter an indignant response, he turned and stormed away.

She was glad when her classes were over. Walking as quickly as she could to the head tower, happy to get away from Ron and Harry's angry looks, she collapsed on the sofa as soon as she stepped inside the common room.

"Idiots," she muttered to herself. "Expecting me to listen to them, as _if_ they knew what they were talking about."

Wanting not to dwell on the fact that she was wrong, for one of the first times since she could remember, she huffed angrily and got up. Fixing up a quick snack before dinner, Hermione leaned against the wall, biting an apple and wondering how she might go about convincing Justin.

_I've got to be clever,_ she mused. _I have to say the right thing and seem very… caring. Ugh, no. If Ginny was right then he might suspect that I'm making a pass at him or something…_

"She's wrong," Hermione muttered, taking a bite out of her apple. "He doesn't. That's such rubbish."

Mulling over the strange thought of being fancied, Hermione did not hear the disembodied, confused voice in the Head common room. It was not until the kitchen door swung open that Hermione was actually snapped out of her thoughts.

"Oh, Justin, I completely forgot, sorry," Hermione said sheepishly.

He smiled and shook his head. "Doesn't matter; a kitchen, huh? Much better than the Hufflepuff house," he joked, grinning at her.

Hermione smiled. "It's very nice," she agreed. "And the quarters are very spacious; personally I like not having to listen to the other girls snoring." He nodded, smiling, and looked around, and Hermione realized that it was very awkward.

"Erm, sit down, I wanted to talk to you," Hermione said, taking a seat on a stool at the island. Justin sat opposite her, looking pleasantly expectant. "Has Dumbledore gone over the rules, duties, and such?"

"Some," he admitted, glancing around. "He told me that you'd fill me in, however, so he didn't say much."

Hermione chortled under her breath; Dumbledore was always up to something. "Well, it's basically prefect duties and much more," she started. "We've got to tutor at least two younger students, learn a foreign language, class observations, plan Hogsmeade weekends… it's rather alarming, how many things we've got to do, since there's more than that."

"How've you been handling it so far? I mean, is the workload overbearing?" Justin asked, fiddling with his tie.

"Yes and no; I've been the overachiever longer than I can remember, so I've had this much work since, well, first year. And primary school--I was bored easily," she replied. "But I have little free time."

Nodding, he said, "I did the same thing. My brother was accepted to Eton, and they came by our house for a dinner thing, you know how parents are, and they saw how much I did and they put me on a waiting list," he informed her proudly, looking smug.

_He's bragging_, Hermione realized, but she nodded politely.

"It shouldn't be too much then," she surmised. "You seem to be fine, not too stressed, and you'll have actual work to do as Head Boy instead of creating an activity."

"That should be fun," he agreed, and it was silent for a minute. Hermione looked at him, blinking, and he looked back at her, and neither of them talked for a minute.

"I also, erm, wanted to ask you something, err… else," she said abruptly, breaking the awkward silence as the words spilled out of her throat. He remained silent, but raised an eyebrow, and the look on his face almost made Hermione blush.

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought furiously. _I let Ginny's idea get to me and now I **do** think he fancies me! Obviously he doesn't, he's always been like this… right?_

"Well, err, you know about the murders over the summer," she started tentatively, and Justin's expression changed entirely; his suggestive look evaporated to clear confusion. "Malfoy's been a bit, err, how do I say this… antisocial? I just thought that, err, he would appreciate the privacy from his own house."

Justin stared intensely at her. "So I was, erm, wondering whether or not he could keep his quarters," she finished feebly, flushing scarlet; she wanted to wither and die on the spot, her suggestion sounding so bizarre Justin would think her to be insane.

"You want me to give up my new quarters?" Justin asked in a strange voice. "To the _murderer_?"

"Don't call him that," Hermione snapped immediately, sounding a bit fierce. "He's human just like the rest of us!"

"He killed his own mother!" Justin cried, looking outraged. "How can you call him human?"

"Because I believe that he's still got a soul," Hermione defended stoutly. "And apparently, I'm the only student in this school that believes as such. If he were to go back to his own house, forced to share living quarters, they would rip him apart, Justin! I just think he deserves to be left alone."

"That's fine and all, Hermione, but I _want_ that room," Justin argued firmly. "I want to be living in this part of the castle!"

"Dumbledore would give you an entirely new room with equal quarters and privacy," Hermione promised on a whim, not very sure if the headmaster would do as much. "It would be like living in the Head tower."

"That's not the only reason I want my quarters to be in _this_ tower," Justin said in a low voice; Hermione almost gaped at his suggestion. "I don't want him to be here, _I_ want to be here."

"Justin, _please_," Hermione begged. "Don't do it for him, do it for _me_. You can still be here all the time. You just won't be sleeping in those quarters."

He was silent, and Hermione could've cheered in victory at his consideration. It was a tricky, sly thing for her to mention herself, and Justin seemed to be debating her words simply because she asked him to do it for her.

"Please?" Hermione asked softly, mustering up the best impersonation of a puppy-dog face she could do. He stared at her, frowning, almost grimacing at the favor she asked.

"I can still come here? Eat in this kitchen, relax on the sofa away from the rest of my house?" he asked suspiciously.

"Anytime you want," she confirmed, and with a sigh, he nodded. She deflated in relief. "Thank you, Justin. I just thought it would make things much easier for Malfoy."

"So you're doing this for him, then?" Justin asked quietly, and she thought about it.

"In a way, yes. If he went back to his house, he'd crack under the incessant jeering he's sure to get from his fellow Slytherins," she informed him.

"Why do you care?" he asked, looking peeved at the thought of her doing something nice for Malfoy.

"Because I do. Everyone in this school needs a sanctuary, and this is the only one he's got," she said sadly. She stood and moved to throw her apple core away. Turning around, Justin was by the swinging door and looking at her.

"I better go, I've got things to do," he said.

She nodded.

"Thank you again," she said. "Not a problem; hopefully I'll find a time when _you_ can return the favor." Smirking, he left Hermione's mouth open in shock at his implication.

_He fancies me_, she thought at once. _I have to tell Ginny!_

Suddenly remembering the false promise she made, Hermione pushed aside the story she would later share with Ginny and began to write to Dumbledore. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind, and would do just as Hermione asked. If he didn't, then she would have an awful time explaining things to Justin.

_-x-x-x-_

Ginny seemed to be delighted with the fact that Justin fancied Hermione. "And then, he said, _I'll find a time when you can return the favor_, and I just thought, _Merlin_!"

"See, Hermione, I knew it. This is hilarious," Ginny cried as they traveled down to the great hall for dinner. "And not only that, you can make Ron jealous when he's being a jerk."

"By purposely misleading Justin? I will not," Hermione declared. "That's wrong."

"And so is hitting on a girl that's involved," Ginny reminded Hermione. "Justin won't care; he'll adore you for it."

"Ron won't ever forgive me if I do, though," Hermione said anxiously. "I'm not going to do something like that."

"Well, fine, see if I care," Ginny huffed. "All I'm saying is, get what you want."

"Yes, yes, I know."

They arrived at dinner a bit late, yet their normal seats were left open. Hermione cautiously sat down next to Ron, and argued with herself whether or not she should apologize.

_He's right, though_, Hermione admitted. _I was being stupid_.

"So I heard Finch-Fletchley's Head Boy now," Harry commented.

Hermione nodded. "He'll put more effort into it than Malfoy ever did," Hermione said. "I'm looking forward to having him as my opposite; working with him will be easy." Ginny suppressed a snort and Hermione sent her a sharp look.

"Did Malfoy do something, like fail or anything?" Harry asked curiously and Hermione shrugged.

"All Dumbledore told me was that they reached a decision together; he wanted to withdraw from his title as Head Boy, and that's all I know," Hermione answered.

Almost as if on cue, an owl came swooping down from above. As it dropped down by Hermione, she caught the letter it was carrying with her outstretched hands. Knowing it was from Dumbledore, she carefully opened it.

_Miss Granger,_

_I have taken the request into consideration, and I will create new quarters for Mr. Finch-Fletchley. I find it very kind of you to ask him to let Mr. Malfoy have privacy, and I am grateful that you managed to convince him._

_I will send a letter to Mr. Malfoy._

_Thank you_

_Headmaster Dumbledore_

Just as Hermione finished reading the letter, Ron suddenly snatched it out of her hands.

"Give that back!" she demanded furiously, grabbing at it.

Ron, however, easily kept it out of her reach with his long arms, read it over, and almost immediately inferred its meaning. "Are you _mad_?!" Ron yelled at her and she lowered her eyes; he shoved the letter back into her hands, his breathing livid and harsh. "Why would you do that? For _him_?"

"I told Dumbledore," Hermione said in a small voice, and Ron quieted. "You were right." Swallowing her pride, she managed to say in a tight voice, "I'm sorry."

"But why would you do this?" Ron asked, gesturing to the letter and ignoring the apology.

"Because… I just, I don't know, I thought he needed to be away from everyone. I was just trying to help him," she mumbled.

"Why would you help that murderer, Hermione?" Ron demanded and Hermione bristled.

"Don't _call_ him that, he's just as human as you are!" she snarled. "Look, I'm sorry if you fail to see things the way I do, but I have reasons for doing this that you obviously don't understand," she seethed.

"Which you won't even share with me," Ron retorted angrily.

"I don't have to tell you everything!" Hermione cried. She shoved the letter in her bag and pushed out of her seat. "I'm sick of you treating me like I can't handle anything!"

"Because you're being an idiot!" Ron shouted. Ginny had her face in her hands, clearly embarrassed by the fight; people were looking curiously at them, livid and red-faced.

"No, I'm just doing something the way I see fit!" she spat, standing away from the rest of them. He jumped to his feet

"Well, you're doing it wrong!" he yelled back, right in her face.

"Is there something wrong here?" Professor McGonagall had strolled over, looking clearly annoyed at their row.

"No, we—"

"She won't tell anyone that—"

"I _told_ the headmaster!" Hermione growled. "Weren't you _listening_?"

"I'm sorry, it just seemed like you were LYING!"

"I _don't _lie, you little—"

"CLEARLY you two are fighting, but fail to notice that you are disrupting a meal," McGonagall interrupted coldly. "Be my guest and carry on, but do so _elsewhere_."

Hermione huffed indignantly and pushed past her boyfriend and Head of House. She stormed all the way back to her Head tower, her emotions rising in her, stinging and irate, and were ready to burst out like fizz from a bottle of soda shaken incessantly.

Slamming the portrait closed, Hermione threw her bag down and screamed out in frustration, cursing Ronald for all he was worth. Kicking at the sofa, Hermione dropped against the cushions, arms folded angrily over her chest.

But she was there no longer than a minute when Malfoy's door swung open. Hermione glared at him for a moment, still consumed with vehemence over Ron, before she realized Malfoy was headed straight for her, looking positively furious.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Malfoy roared hoarsely at her, waving a letter about; Hermione suddenly understood why he was so angry and jumped up immediately.

"Don't come near me!" she snarled, pointing her wand threateningly.

"I don't want your filthy sympathy, Mudblood!" he spat, lips curled in disgust, referring to the letter.

"The only thing I feel for you is _pity_," she retorted swiftly. "As if I would do anything _good_ for you," she sneered, despite the fear that was slowly freezing her nerves.

Malfoy snarled and lunged at her; shrieking, she ducked as he leapt over the sofa, knocking it over. She fell and scrambled to get up, driven by terror, but he latched onto her ankles and dragged her over.

"I should've killed you!" he bellowed. "You good-for-nothing—" Hermione abruptly turned and slammed her elbow into his throat. Gasping for air, he released her for a single moment where she turned and kicked at him, yelling in terror.

Despite his lack of air, Malfoy jumped on her, wrestling her wand out of her hands; flailing around like a helpless animal caught in a trap, Hermione could do little to control her fear as she struggled desperately. Grabbing at her wrists, he stood and threw her. She fell against the wall, smacking her head in the process.

He stood, panting and towering over her. Hermione groaned in pain, but still curled up in defense under his omnipotent, murderous glare. She could do nothing but rear back her head as he reached down and took her collar. Pulling her up slowly, intentionally scraping her head against the wall, he lifted her to his level, and she helplessly hung there, his fist her only support.

"Don't you dare try and make me your good deed for the day," Malfoy hissed, bringing his face very close to hers.

"It's so tempting," she managed to croak sarcastically; she was having a very hard time breathing. "Aren't you supposed to help the poor, sad, sick, and lost?"

Malfoy snarled and shoved all of his weight on her, pressing her into the wall and forcing all the air of her body; she spluttered and gasped, and was suddenly struggling, finally able to move her arms again.

"Let go of me," she wheezed, pressing her wand into his cheek. He gave her a malicious look, and at such a close proximity, she could see the animosity in his eyes. She had a feeling it wasn't just from her threat.

He moved away, and as her lungs filled with air, he grabbed her wand straight from her hand. Startled, she tumbled back against the wall, still trying to breathe properly, and her body was seized with terror as he flung the wooden rod over his shoulder.

He was much more menacing now that she had no protection and he had more than enough. His lips pulled back in some sort of a twisted smile, he took a step towards her, eyes gleaming with malevolent revenge, and her mind scrambled for a way of defense.

Malfoy pressed his wand into her throat and his face twisted into a bestial look, like an animal poisoned with rabies, insane from the disease that overtook its brain. His scar was gleaming like a single fang, dripping with blood, and it disturbed her more than the delirious look in his eyes.

"Go ahead and kill me," she croaked, shaking with terror and desperation; all she wanted was for him to be _gone_. "That's not going to make Ginny forget what I told her." The dark gleam in Malfoy's silver, haunting eyes seemed to falter, vengeance replaced by anxiety. "I die, and just because of that she would tell Harry. Imagine that, Harry Potter knowing that you _cried_ over your mother—"

"_SHUT UP_!" Malfoy screamed without warning and Hermione flinched. He withdrew his wand in a swift move, but as she scrambled away from him, she noticed he was shaking horribly. He backed away from her, and staring at him in confusion, it dawned on her that he looked like he had been utterly _betrayed._

Hermione was so amazed that she tripped and fell against the staircase, gazing up at Malfoy. He was fighting an equally brutal fight within himself, his violent emotions so demanding and harsh that he was quivering and clutching at his face, as if desperately trying to rip off the mask that he constantly had on, but could not.

And then, she heard it, a faint tiny sound that almost escaped her hearing; a whimper rose in his throat, weakly fought, and bubbled out from trembling, pursed lips. Hunched over, Malfoy was tensing up and failing to succeed over his turbulent emotions each time he attempted to gain control of himself; before she knew what had happened, he had fallen to his knees and a dry sob escaped his throat as he doubled over.

Hermione was more in awe than anything else; awed that he could feel so deeply and be so miserable when she was knowingly in his presence. Caught up in the spiraling silence, tricked into thinking that he was yielding before her, Hermione carefully kneeled in front of him and cautiously reached out to touch his shoulder—

Malfoy seized her wrist like a serpent striking its prey and hauled her forward, twisting her arm around and shoving her body beneath his, a knee in her back before Hermione could even manage to gasp. Cheek pressed to the cold floor, she could feel his fingers shaking in their tight grip in spite of the fact that he seemed to have total control over the situation.

"Is _this_ what you wanted, Mudblood?" he growled, voice tight; breathing jagged and forced. The tremor in his throat was evident, implying that he was overwhelmed by his own emotions, close to snapping.

"No," she whispered, comprehending what _she_ had done to _him_. "I-I'm sorry."

"You're ALWAYS sorry, you'll always _BE_ SORRY!" he screamed, rattling her twisted arm about, and she cried out silently in pain. He growled again and, holding onto her arm even tighter, rotated it slowly until she screamed out, her bones fiery and strained.

Clutching her by the shoulders, he lowered his mouth to her ear. "I don't want your filthy help," he uttered colorlessly. He let go of her suddenly, and the pressure that had been on her, not only his weight but of the situation, was gone.

"But you _need_ help, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled desperately before he had shut himself up in his room. She was grateful that she had stopped him right in his tracks. "From_ anyone_!"

"No, and especially not from you," he snarled, and turned on his heel, slamming his door, and ending her next sentence before it could leave her mouth.

Hermione slowly sat up, rubbing her shoulder and staring worriedly at Malfoy's door. If this was how he would react to her confrontations, then, well… she had a long way to go.

_**-  
-x-x-x-  
-**_

**Author's Notes:** Weeeell, I hope you enjoyed that! Things didn't exactly work out as I planned for this chapter, but I know I'll fit them into the next. The Malfoy scene, the one you just read, was completely improvised, so be grateful!

Thanks to **Halo of Darkness **for betaing this for me! Yaay!

Please continue to **read and review!**


	8. Make Me Wild

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form, and this story/plot and the timeline solely belongs to me. It's been stolen once, so if you take it, I might kill you

Chyeah, sorry for the painfully long wait for this chapter. I've been doing a number of things, all reluctant and annoying, since the last time I've updated. Now that summer is here, I'll be working on this story and another of mine (posted elsewhere) until school starts!

Enough of the rambling! On with the chapter!

**Forever and Always  
****By darkwing731  
**-  
((--Chapter Eight--))  
Make Me Wild

-

_Clutching her by the shoulders, he lowered his mouth to her ear. "I don't want your filthy help," he uttered colorlessly. He let go of her suddenly, and the pressure that had been on her, not only his weight but of the situation, was gone._

_"But you __help, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled desperately before he had shut himself up in his room. She was grateful that she had stopped him right in his tracks. __"From __**anyone**!"_

_"No, and especially not from you," he snarled, and turned on his heel, slamming his door, and ending her next sentence before it could leave her mouth._

_Hermione slowly sat up, rubbing her shoulder and staring worriedly at Malfoy's door. If this was how he would react to her confrontations, then, well… she had a long way to go._

-

"You look tired," Harry observed at breakfast as Hermione sat down. The Head Girl grumbled in a response, carefully choosing a bagel and pouring herself coffee.

"What kept you awake?" Ginny asked, nursing her coffee.

"Homework," Hermione muttered, eyes half closed.

That was hardly the truth at all; after confronting Malfoy again last night, Hermione had been impervious to sleep and had spent the night ruminating Malfoy's behavior. Somnolence had only struck once, pulling her into mist and confusion, before slivers of nightmares had shaken her awake.

"Skive your first class," Ginny suggested, grinning at Hermione's sharp look.

"Do you even _know_ her, Ginny?" Harry chuckled. Hermione gulped the coffee, pouring more and sucking it down again as fast as she could.

"I've got Ancient Runes first, and I won't miss it," Hermione informed Harry, and bit her bagel. "We're working on runes casting and Odin's Runes."

"Nod like you know what she's talking about," Ginny whispered to Harry, and they both nodded with mock-interest. Hermione scowled.

"Well, I'll have you know—"

"Morning." Ron collapsed into the seat next to Hermione, grabbing about ten different pieces of food and Hermione's third cup of coffee.

"That's _mine_!"

"Learn to share," Ron grunted, downing the mug in a large gulp.

"If you _asked_ first, Ronald—"

"Don't _Ronald_ me, Hermione," Ron snapped, ripping a large muffin in half. "I hardly slept last night."

"So that justifies you being rude to me?" Hermione growled.

"You know I bet we could sell tickets for these fights," Ginny muttered to Harry. "We'd make a lot of money."

"Ron always loses, though," Harry whispered back.

"He's getting braver."

"I don't need any sort of justification," Ron sniffed, shoving an entire muffin into his mouth.

"Yes you do!"

"_You_ never do!" Ron cried defensively. "You're always ranting and saying these horrible things to everyone, but _I_ can't do it because I'm not _you_, right?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Don't think for a moment that _just_ because you didn't sleep a wink meant _I_ did either!"

"What are you trying to say?" Ron retorted angrily. "That you're right and I'm wrong?"

"Yes!" Hermione cried without a moment's pause. Ron laughed, and Hermione snarled. "I'm going to class." The Head Girl snatched up her bag and swung off the bench, purposely hitting Ron in the head with her book bag, splashing hot coffee all over him.

"_What the hell—_"

"Whoops," Hermione spat sarcastically, and stalked off out of the great hall.

_-x-x-x-_

Still raging, Hermione sat down at her first class and pulled out her books and parchment. Classmates sat down around her, chatting and gossiping. Luna Lovegood finally sat down next to her.

"Morning, Hermione," Luna said, sounding as if she was daydreaming but had automatically said the words.

"Morning," Hermione replied. One of the things Hermione liked best about Ancient Runes was that, since it was a voluntary class, all the years that took it were mixed with other years. There were two or three classes in all, and students from different houses. Hermione's class consisted of sixth and seventh years.

The teacher entered and within minutes was lecturing, writing notes on the board, explaining the daily activity. The class moved into the pairs and groups they had collected in, and commenced with Rune Casting.

"Odin's Runes! I've been eager to do this," a Hufflepuff named Liam gushed. Luna chortled as she mixed up the bag of runes the professor had given them.

"Go ahead, choose," Luna offered, holding the bag open for Liam.

"My situation is my brother and I," Liam stated before he reached in and retrieved the rune Pertho.

"Beware your enemies," Luna warned mysterious, and Liam sighed, putting it back into the bag. "And don't get upset, Liam. Only you can choose to be upset, no one can make you."

"I guess I'll stop fighting my brother then," he muttered, knowing the Rune of Chance and Mystery had suggested him to do so

"Hermione?" Hermione reached in, her fingers pushing the runes around and seeking one that seemed to be drawn to her hands. Wood touched her fingertips, wood that felt smooth and warm in her palm, an anomaly among the other tablets of wood.

"Situation?" Luna asked, smiling dreamily. Hermione shrugged before pulling the tablet out.

"Eihwaz, Rune of Defense," Hermione said softly. She struggled to contemplate its meaning, not knowing which situation she had chosen before she had casted her rune. "Associated with death, magic, and endurance, as well as many other things…"

"Like change, and meandering through time from the old, to the new," Luna said wisely.

"Well?" Liam asked curiously. Hermione mulled it over, staring at the rune and pondering.

"I guess… well I think I'll just be patient then," Hermione whispered. "Things _are_ changing…"

It was correct, and the rune had given her a significant answer to a problem, but the thing was… she didn't know which one. She hadn't chosen. When casting Odin's Rune, she should've thought of it first, but because she neglected to do so, she was left with only uncertainty.

"My situation is the girls' dormitory." Luna dug vigorously into the bag and finally retrieved Laguz, Rune of Water. Luna squealed at the symbol.

"Converse of Laguz! I've got to watch out for those trying to trick me with water, its telling me. I was hoping I'd get this," Luna exclaimed. "I really didn't think much of the situation in the girls' dorm, but I know now! For example, if girls in your dormitory were stealing things of yours—"

"That's awful!" Hermione interrupted. "Who are they? I'll give them a detention faster than—"

"It's fine. I'm going to surprise them like a Blibbering Humdinger speaking logically!" Hermione didn't know what to do at first—calmly explain that those creatures had never existed, or nod in agreement.

"Erm, they will be surprised then," Hermione said hesitantly, forcing a laugh. Liam snorted into his palm.

"I'm going to retaliate. When they're asleep, I'm getting my things back and setting a nasty ward about my wooden chest," Luna said lightly. "They'll never go near my belongings again, especially if I hit them with a dose of their own Potion: a water hex."

"They might not even go near _you_ again," Liam predicted uneasily.

"My things will be safe," Luna said firmly, then abruptly switched her focus to Hermione. "Did you choose a situation?"

"Not really," Hermione sighed. "I meant to, but I was distracted."

"By what?"

Hermione frowned. "I really don't know. I'm just a bit occupied lately, that's most likely the cause."

"_It does not do to dwell on wishes_," Luna whispered mysteriously, leaning forward and looking directly into Hermione's eyes. Suddenly, Hermione's chest seized up painfully, and the Head Girl was held tight by the Ravenclaw's words. "_And not on nightmares do dreamers die_."

Luna blinked, and settled into her seat, her mystic smile still intact. Hermione gaped at her, moved by the almost prophetic words.

"Stop _doing_ that, Luna," Liam sighed.

"I hope that helped, Hermione," Luna said with a knowledgeable nod. Hermione couldn't speak; her throat had closed into a tight knot, her jaw moving without consent as the her mind buzzed for an answer, like bees searching for honey they would never find.

Luna plucked Eihwaz from Hermione's fingers and dropped it back into the bag. Shaking it about, mixing up the tablets, Luna said, "Hermione, I think you should choose a situation and cast again."

"All right," Hermione said faintly. "I choose dreams. And nightmares." Luna held out the bag, and Hermione reached in and snatched the first rune without thinking, suddenly wanted to flee the class.

It was Eihwaz again.

"I would remember that rune from now on," Luna advised. "Something wants to hurt you. Defend yourself."

Hermione shoved the rune back into the bag, her fingers burning up as if the wooden tablet was on fire. "I want to cast again," Hermione said. _I want to cast just to prove that I won't get Eihwaz._

"Situation?"

"Same," Hermione said hastily. "Make sure you really jumble them, Luna." Luna nodded, and shook the bag vigorously. After a while, she handed the bag to Liam, who did the same; he opened the bag, and held it out to Hermione.

_I won't get Eihwaz_, she thought firmly to herself. Closing her eyes, her hand dove into the bag, grasped a single tablet, and pulled it out.

"Well?" Liam asked. Hermione slowly opened her fisted hand: Eihwaz again.

Furiously, Hermione kept casting with the same situation, progressively adding more people to the mixing of the rune bag. Hermione forced Luna into switching bags with several people, but every time Hermione reached in, quick as lightning, and pulled out a rune, it was _always_ Eihwaz.

"I need sleep," Hermione moaned at the end of the class, burying her head in her hands. The class was filing out into the corridor, departing for their next lesson. Luna was shaking the bag, swinging it around and throwing it in the air and catching it.

"My situation is Hermione's nightmares," Luna said. Hermione watched warily as Luna bit her lip, dug around in the bag and retrieved a single rune. "Oh look!" Luna said happily. "Eihwaz!"

_-x-x-x-_

"What's wrong with you?" Ginny asked, catching up with Hermione in the corridor. Hermione looked pale and a bit frightened. "It's not Mal—"

"No," Hermione interrupted. She quickly filled Ginny in about the Eihwaz Castings in Ancient Runes, and what Luna had said.

"You've been having nightmares?" Ginny repeated suspiciously. Hermione waved her hand offhandedly, trying to dismiss it. "About what?"

"They aren't important," Hermione assured Ginny.

"You sound like Harry."

"They aren't!" Hermione blurted fiercely, and Ginny flinched. "I mean it," Hermione promised in a gentler tone. "Voldemort has nothing to do with them."

"How do you know?" Ginny demanded. Hermione sighed, recalling the screaming, the burning light, the devastation that had swept through her mind…

"I just do." Ginny remained silent and the two girls continued on their way to class, parting at one of the corridors. Hermione nodded briefly at Ginny, and turned to go to Charms.

_I just don't understand what Eihwaz means,_ Hermione thought anxiously. _I mean, I understand its actual meaning, but how does the interpretation apply to me? __To my nightmares? __And what about Luna?__ Her prediction was eerily close to home—_

Her thoughts were interrupted as Hermione tripped over something and fell face-flat onto the floor. Hoping that no one had seen her fall, as the chagrin would follow her through the week, Hermione turned over and got up, searching for what she had tripped on.

It was Malfoy.

At the sound of Hermione's petrified scream, Ginny appeared in less than ten seconds. Panting, she demanded, "What? What the hell is it?" Hermione pointed a shaky figure towards Malfoy's still body on the floor, and Ginny jumped.

"Is he dead?" the redhead asked quietly after a moment, her initial shock settling. Hermione did not answer, but cautiously approached Malfoy, kneeling down next to him and feeling his neck for a pulse.

"He's so… sick looking," Ginny murmured, and Hermione nodded. His neck was cold and clammy.

"He's alive, but unconscious," Hermione announced finally. "We should bring him to the Hospital Wing."

"Agreed," Ginny said at once. Using _Mobilicorpu__s, _the two girls quickly brought the unconscious boy to Madam Pomfrey, surprisingly without anyone seeing them.

"Yes? Oh Merlin, what happened?" Madam Pomfrey rushed over, guiding Malfoy's floating body to the nearest bed. Hermione and Ginny exchanged a worried look.

"I don't know; I stumbled over him when I found him," Hermione explained. "We thought it best to bring him here."

"What's wrong with him?" Ginny asked. Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand swiftly over Malfoy, a hand automatically placed on his forehead.

"Mild fever," the nurse muttered. "And exhaustion," she deduced finally as the tip of her wand glowed orange.

"Exhaustion?" Ginny reiterated. "It's not like he goes for jogs, or anything. And he's not playing Quidditch anymore."

"If he's not engaging in physically demanding activities, it can be from lack of nutrition and plain neglect," Madam Pomfrey said. Hermione understood suddenly what the nurse meant.

"I really don't see him eating much," the Head Girl offered. Madam Pomfrey considered this, and then with a great shove, gathered the bottom of Malfoy's school shirt and pushed them up to his ribs.

Ginny gasped sharply, grabbing at Hermione's arm. Malfoy, in a word, was simply emaciated. Each rib was outlined over the stretched, grayish flesh that was Malfoy's skin. The arch from his ribs to stomach was dramatic and sharp, sharper than the shape of his sternum against the rest of the ribcage, sharper than the scar on his face.

"Oh my Lord…"

"He's starving himself," Hermione whispered, her voice very small and distant. There was an enormous sort of feeling that was threatening to come bursting out of her, pushing on her own healthy ribcage to be let free, to be screamed aloud. Hermione resisted, but could not quell the worried whimper that left her as a result.

"I think you two should go," Madam Pomfrey said as she pulled Malfoy's shirt back down. "I appreciate you bringing him here, but this really isn't your business."

Ginny started to protest, but Hermione hushed her right away. "That's fine, we'll go."

"But—"

"Would it be so much to ask you something, though? A favor?" Hermione said politely. The nurse arched an eyebrow, waiting expectantly. "When Malfoy wakes up, or when he's better, whichever comes first, could you tell him that, erm, someone hopes he get's better?"

"Certainly," Madam Pomfrey said.

"But don't tell him it was me, or anyone really," Hermione said quickly. "But that _someone_ wishes he's well." At Madam Pomfrey's nod, Hermione smiled, took Ginny by the arm and hastily left the Hospital wing.

"What was _that_ about?" Ginny asked as soon as the doors had snapped shut. Hermione sighed.

"I've decided to take a leaf from your book. When Malfoy hears that, he's going to know that someone actually cares for his existence, instead of thinking the entire world hates him," Hermione said. She sighed again.

"He'll think it was Dumbledore," Ginny pointed out, but Hermione shook her head.

"Why would Dumbledore do it anonymously? If the man can face Voldemort, Malfoy's no problem at all," Hermione disagreed. "No, Dumbledore would tell Malfoy to his face."

"His skinny, anorexic face," Ginny muttered.

"Don't joke about that," Hermione said sharply, and Ginny looked mildly affronted. "This is _serious_."

"You're starting to care about this Malfoy Mission thing more than I would've expected you to," Ginny said slowly. Hermione looked away.

"I just…" She couldn't find the right words to express just how deeply Malfoy was affecting her. "No one deserves the weight of the world," Hermione said finally. "I've got to get to Charms."

Ginny stared at Hermione's retreating back, pondering the brunette's mind. Why would someone who had always undergone Malfoy's tormenting suddenly be so concerned?

_Maybe this is striking much closer to home than I thought_, Ginny decided finally. Shaking her head, the Weasley departed for her own class.

_-x-x-x-_

"So, err, Therese has trouble in theory, and has a free class on, err…" Hermione was trying to plan a tutoring schedule for the fourth year she had agreed to tutor, and finding a way to do so without any free time that coordinated with Hermione's time-table was proving to be difficult.

Hermione released a weary sigh into her hands. "Maybe Justin has this done already," she muttered to herself. "I could ask him."

The portrait that led to the Gryffindor Common Room, directly behind Hermione, opened and shut with a slow creak. Hermione shifted and looked over the back of the couch.

"Oh. Hi," Hermione said flatly; Ron stood in the doorway, not looking very pleased—, wearing the same expression as his girlfriend

"We need to talk," Ron said at last.

"You mean, you need to apologize," Hermione corrected.

"This is the exact sort of rubbish that's making me angry!" Ron snapped.

"Me defending myself?" Hermione shouted, standing up to face him. She marched around the couch, and poked him hard in the chest. "You've been a jerk to me lately—"

"Oh, _I've_ been a jerk?" Ron repeated in mock-curiosity. "What about you? You've done nothing but yell at me!"

"For good reason!" Hermione snarled. "You won't sod off and let me deal with my own troubles!"

"I wanted to _help_!" Ron shouted furiously. "What the _hell_ is so wrong with that?"

"When I say I don't want help, _I don't want help_!" Hermione screamed, shaking her hands exasperatedly.

"Look," Ron growled, forcing his voice to be calm. "You had bruises, and how? _Malfoy_ hurt you. And you seemed to think that it was your fault—"

"It _was_!"

"_NO IT WASN'T_!" Ron exploded, and Hermione actually recoiled in surprise. "_Think_, Hermione! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"I told Dumbledore about it, Ron, and you didn't seem to care!" Hermione spat.

"I was more concerned with the fact that you _willingly_ kept the quarters for Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed, shaking his fist in the direction of Malfoy's quarters.

"He needs a sanctuary," Hermione defended.

"He needs to be in a _Looney bin_!" Ron retorted sharply. "You aren't supposed to be dealing with him!"

"And why not?" Hermione asked fiercely. "Is it because I'm a _girl_? Is that it?"

"Don't try and make me sexist," Ron snapped angrily. "I know you're more than capable than most of the boys in this damn school!"

"Then _why_?" Hermione demanded.

"Because I'm supposed to keep you safe!" Ron shouted without a moment's pause. "Because you're not the one that's supposed to get hurt!" Hermione found herself silenced by this, but grudgingly; she kept mouthing words she thought might hurt him just as much, but her voice seemed to be gone.

"I only told Harry that Malfoy called you the M word," Ron said quietly, looking down at his feet. "Harry would've had a right fit if I really told him what happened."

"I—thanks," Hermione murmured, knowing that Ron was absolutely right.

"I don't know what the bloody hell you were thinking," Ron said suddenly.

"You never let me explain myself!" Hermione sniffed indignantly. "I only get two words out, before you've judged me and just _have_ to say what you're thinking—"

"Are you sure you're not describing yourself?" Ron asked, then a second later knew he had made a mistake.

"And I absolutely _detest_ those sarcastic comments you make all the time!" Hermione snapped. "You just think everything is a joke, you take _nothing_ seriously unless we're all about to _die_—"

"Hermione—"

"And you can be just as nosy as your sister, you know! I know what I did was illogical, but I fixed it and it's over now, but you just couldn't seem to grasp the fact that I'm _perfectly_ capable—"

"_Hermione_—"

"—of handling situations! You said it yourself that I was more capable than most of the boys in Hogwarts, so why are you being a hypocrite? You _know_ I'm fine, so why not just—"

Ron seized Hermione's face in his hands and pulled her forward, kissing her fiercely. Hermione's ranting halted for a moment as she stared at Ron in surprise, cross-eyed from the close proximity, before she started speaking angrily again against his lips.

Taking no notice of her struggling, Ron wrapped his arms around her, kissing her harder than before, desperately hard it seemed, and Hermione decided to acquiesce all of a sudden, her fierce, applicable words gone to waste, her reason and logic and advise slipping away from her tongue as she grabbing Ron's shirt in her fists and pulled him closer.

"So this is why I'm dating you," she murmured against his lips, forehead pressed to his, and Ron laughed, together forgetting the argument.

He placed his grinning mouth against hers, a hand running through her untamed hair. She entwined her arms around him, fingers grazing over his neck and skin, pressing the curves of her body against his to see if the fire would ignite even through their clothes, even if they weren't skin on skin.

After all the worry that had been eating away at her, the problems of someone else's life slowly suffocating her, Ron felt good. Hermione could find no reason within herself, not a logical one anyway, that justified her being angry with Ron… Ron, and his logical words (for once).

Kissing him made Hermione forget what needed to be done, what homework she had, the fact that Malfoy would kill her if he had the chance; Ron replaced anxiety with pleasure, something reading had done, but not like this… no, _never_ like this.

They were kissing each other hungrily, pressed against the wall and willingly without oxygen, simply to save the seconds they could spend gasping for breath for kissing instead. Hermione snaked her hands through his hair, pulling anxiously at his shoulders, willing him closer, feeling nothing but a euphoric, soaring feeling. Absently thinking that reading was _not_ as enjoyable as this, she chuckled against his lips.

Ron pulled back at her noise, and they looked at each other, smiling. Hermione suddenly rubbed her nose to his. He laughed, the sound echoing even as he kissed her again, and even as he leaned down and picked her up.

"What are you—" Ron silenced her inquiry with another kiss, deep albeit playful. He pulled her into his arms, like he was the proudest man alive, holding his newlywed bride, and turned her around, setting her backside against the couch.

"Ron," she teased, grinning at him and fingering his collar. "What was that?" Ron smirked, and without warning pulled his arms away from Hermione. Before a shriek could even begin to rise from her throat, Hermione went tumbling back onto the couch.

Flustered and sincerely annoyed, she moved to a more comfortable position to nag him—Ron's body came gliding over the couch, laughter following him like a trail someone might follow in the woods, and landed on the floor next to the couch.

"Are you alright?" Hermione squeaked immediately. Ron smiled, and with a great pull grabbed Hermione's arm, forcing her to fall on top of him, and kissed her nose as she lifted her head from his chest.

"You're strange," Hermione whispered, sitting half on him, leaning into his body.

"You love it," he said, a dashing smile to his words. She dipped her head down and kissed him, tauntingly light at first, before they slowly were engrossed in each other, rolling around on the floor and kissing madly.

_I could spend forever doing this_, Hermione thought wistfully to herself, smiling against Ron's lips.

_-x-x-x-_

"This isn't fair," Ron grumbled as he, Hermione, Harry and Ginny, also accompanied by several boisterous Gryffindor walked to Hogsmeade.

Hermione squeezed his hand, smiling sympathetically. "It's only every third Hogsmeade trip, Ron, so don't worry."

"Can I follow you around?" Ron asked, grinning. Ginny snorted.

"Depends on what Justin says," said Ginny snidely, and Hermione gave her a sharp look; Ginny snickered.

"What?" Ron asked suspiciously, and Hermione sighed.

"I have to patrol _with_ Justin," she explained.

"What's Ginny talking about?" Ron demanded. Hermione threw Ginny an angry glower.

"Nothing, Ron."

"It's not 'nothing'!" Ron insisted. "What's going on?"

"_Nothing_ is going on!" Hermione said heatedly. "I'm patrolling with the Head Boy, is all! By _requirement_." Ron's bothered face did little to soften, but Hermione pulled his arm around her neck. "You know I'd much rather spend the day with you, Ron."

"Gag," Ginny said loudly, and everybody laughed.

"Real funny, Gin," Ron said sarcastically.

"She is amusing," Neville said.

"Entertains us!" Seamus agreed, and the Gryffindor boys gave a hearty cheer.

"Thank you, thank you," Ginny called, bowing slightly.

"Look!" Dean said suddenly, and the boys all turned together as one to look. "Parvati and her mates. All alone. No boys!"

"Let's ambush 'em," Seamus suggested. Another vigorous answer met this, and the boys swept quickly up the road, leaving the two couples to themselves.

"I'm glad we didn't stop them," Harry muttered.

"Look Hermione, there's your _partner_!" Ginny remarked, nudging Hermione. Justin was standing alone up the road.

"Will you _please_ stop doing that?" Hermione growled. "It's upsetting your brother!"

Ron wasn't paying attention; eyes glued to Justin, the Weasley narrowed his eyes as the Head Boy spotted Hermione and waved.

"I don't like him," Ron said as Hermione waved back.

"Get _used_ to it, Ronald!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "I have to work with him the entire year. At least it's not Malfoy."

_Shouldn't have said that_, Hermione thought when Ron stiffened.

"Erm, well I'll see you back at the castle," Hermione said tersely, ducking under Ron's arm. If they fought again, it would just strain Hermione's constant augmenting load of stress. Like another piece of laundry that she had to do, along with the rest of the chores.

"Hello, Justin," Hermione greeted with a smile plastered on her face.

"Afternoon," he replied. "So, do we just walk, then?"

She shrugged; "Patrolling is patrolling. All we do is watch for fights, really. Nothing else will happen."

They strolled along outside the shops, silently observing; the tense, nearly awkward silence between them was mutually ignored. Hermione enjoyed Hogsmeade trips, for there was never another time where her Muggle clothing was put to good use.

The abrupt recollection that Justin was Muggle-born made Hermione smile widely. "You know, I forgot you were Muggle-born," Hermione blurted, then laughed.

He grinned. "Neither of us seem it, do we? Head Boy and Girl, two of the smartest people in the school."

"Well I certainly love being a Muggle," Hermione said. "The perspective on both worlds is very… inspiring."

"Hundreds of opportunities on both sides," Justin agreed. "If you fail as a witch, which you won't, you can go to Medical school or somewhere just as prestigious."

"Medical school sounds like something I would do," Hermione said. "I'd like to work at St. Mungo's, or you know, be a Field Doctor so that when the war comes…"

"They'll need you," Justin said quietly. "If you went into healing, and then went head first into battle, you'd be enough of a weapon against You-Know-Who."

Hermione threw her head back and guffawed. "Me? Certainly not, not as a Field Doctor!"

"Oh?" Justin repeated, smirking. "What would you be then, the spy?"

Hermione grinned. "Exactly. I fancy myself to be… the seductive spy that lures the foolish Death Eaters, takes their information and leaves them to rot," she exclaimed, giggling like mad. "That would be very interesting."

"It would," the Head Boy agreed. "Almost worth becoming a Death Eater for." Hermione blinked a few times, trying to verify the implication of his words. She forced a laugh, nervously, before speaking again.

"What's your expertise for the war, then?" she inquired in a rush. Justin didn't seem to mind that Hermione had no response for his come-on.

"Magical creatures. Maybe help the House Elves finally start a revolution," he suggested.

"Did you join S.P.E.W.?" Hermione asked immediately. The Hufflepuff attempted to conceal the grin before he laughed.

"No, but I wanted to," he confessed. "My mates thought I was mad."

"Mine too…"

Patrolling turned out to be an event that compelled Hermione to think quickly; her sharp mind, always running, constantly jammed tight with fact, figures, knowledge, problems, was now overflowing with the fact that Justin was hitting on her, and she had to avoid it.

Yet, she couldn't find it in her heart to tell him about Ron… that was, if Justin didn't already know.

_-x-x-x-_

Ron drummed his fingers against the table, waiting for Ginny to come back with the butterbeers. "I don't like Justin," he grunted.

Harry sighed. "We know, Ron."

"He gets to spend more time with Hermione than I do!" Ron complained. "I bet he fancies her… I should watch them, make sure that they don't—"

"Don't go stalking your girlfriend or _anything_," Ginny warned. "Hermione would be raving mad if you did. You just need to trust her!"

"I trust Hermione alone with any boy as much as I do you and Harry alone," Ron snapped. Ginny and Harry smirked at each other.

"She's not Head Girl because she's lazy and untrustworthy, Ron," Harry pointed out. "Give it a rest. She can take care of herself, and when you're around—"

"Yes, but what about the thing with Malfoy? She refused to report that until I got in her face about it," Ron seethed. "She acted stupidly!"

"She had her reasons, Ron," Ginny defended immediately. "She doesn't need to tell you everything!"

"She had reasons to not report what he did?" Ron repeated. "Logical ones? _Hermione_ reasons?"

"Hermione's dealt with being called, well you know, before…" Harry started slowly. His emerald eyes flicked between Ginny and Ron, who were now avoiding each other's eyes. "What's going on? What did Malfoy do to Hermione?"

"You know last weekend was her eighteenth birthday," Ginny reminded Ron hastily. "Did you get her a gift?"

"Bloody _hell_, are you serious? I completely forgot!" Ron exclaimed. He grabbed his things and threw on his cloak. "I've got an idea. But it's Muggle related, so Harry, you advise me."

"What?" Harry cried. "How am I supposed to help? What are you getting her?"

"Like… I dunno, Dad was talking about month stones and things that go in necklaces… I thought…" Ron trailed off uncertainly.

"She likes silver," Ginny commented. "And I'm almost sure her birthstone is, err… sapphire."

"Positive?" Ron asked, and Ginny nodded vigorously. "Let's go."

The three of them left the Three Broomsticks in a rush, discussing other possible gifts for the Head Girl. Harry's realization that Malfoy had done something to Hermione, other than call her a Mudblood, was not lost; he would just have to confront her later, when he knew that Hermione would break if Harry pressed hard enough.

_-x-x-x-_

Hogwarts students, no matter the weather, no matter the omnipresent demand of homework and studying, and despite the security risks, alarms, or warnings, _went to Hogsmeade_. It had always been like that; if you were allowed, nothing could stop you.

But something stopped him.

The only reason Malfoy had actually crept out of his constantly locked quarters was he knew that both Mudbloods would be out of his hair. _None_ of the seventh years would be in the castle at the hour, in this majestic season.

The Malfoy lit a fire in the grate with a simple flick of his wand, and settled into the closest chair. Frankly, he _despised_ his room, and wished nothing more than to burn it to ashes that would flutter away in the wind.

_Wind that would never, ever come_.

Granger was preventing that, though—if only she wasn't the officious, conniving Gryffindor she was, he would've been able to frighten her enough. But of course, he was either too weak to do so, or the Mudblood was so uncannily on top of her senses that he simply _couldn't_ frighten her.

_You wouldn't be able to scare a bloody rabbit_, Malfoy thought viciously to himself. The echo in his mind, not his, _never_ his, reverberated involuntarily through his skull.

_The weak do not thrive, Draco…_

_I'll die then_, Malfoy thought impassively. _I can't do anything. Father's __right,__ always has been. I am weak… even if Mother—_

He stopped thinking abruptly. The tired, aching body that was his had molded into the chair, but without warning he tensed up again, his throat the tautest of all muscles. Malfoy grinded his lips to stop them from shaking, and glared at the dancing flames. They seemed to taunt him.

Fire had always been a source of pleasure for him, igniting the joy of pyrotechnics in his blood. His father especially adored fire—_Flames cause the quickest pain, the pain that lingers even after it is drenched. Scars will always remind its victims_—and would continue to, dead or alive.

_Wherever he is_, Malfoy thought absently. Gazing into the fire almost brought back slivers of memories, shards of happiness and simplicity, times of just him and his mother.

"_Aguamenti!_" Malfoy snarled, trembling wand aimed at the fire. The coals hissed at him as they died, slowly, still trying desperately to burn. He placed his wand down on the table, his hand quivering as he dropped the wooden rod.

The murder wasn't supposed to affect him like this. After all, he had been the one to kill her right? Malfoy let out a bestial howl, kicking the couch over and grabbing the table. He pressed the table to the dead fire with a feral scream, a sound that should not have left a human's mouth.

_But I am barely human anymore._

"_Burn_!" Malfoy shouted hoarsely at the coffee, lashing out at the wood with his foot. The weakness in his throat, the lack of control over everything around him boiled over; he started whimpering, little gasps as the result of his attempt to stop, breath catching in his throat.

Malfoy fell back against the couch, breathing raggedly and pressing his palms to his eyes. Nothing seemed to be working; his nerves were slipping, and despite that he cleared his mind—_no one can penetrate now, I'm safe_—and despite that he forced music into his head, something of the classical era he would assume, his mother's face loomed in his mind, accusing him.

"Stop it," he moaned. His stone-cold heart was squeezed, clenched in a vice-grip that was seizing the rest of his body too. Malfoy gripped his knees, pressed his hands between them, _anything_ to stop the shaking.

There was a slow, promising idea that lurked into his mind, darker than the summer that had condemned him, darker than his mother's dead eyes. Something that hadn't gone unnoticed before—Malfoy wouldn't have made it this far without its help. He had to cope somehow, even if it only eased the pain a little bit.

He dug around in his bag until he found it; the same knife he had pressed against Granger's neck, the one he had most unwillingly took away from the dirty, muddy veins was the same weapon he carried with him. Always. It never left his bag, never left his possession.

The knife gleamed hungrily when Malfoy flicked it open. He pulled up his sleeve, and amongst the other scars, new and freshly scabbed being the majority, he chose a spot. _Over, down, over_. The chant whispered to him as he slowly dragged the hooked tip across his skin.

_Over down over._

Why was he even still trying? It didn't appear that anyone understood. It didn't seem likely that anyone would ever comprehend the message he was trying to send. Malfoy considered this, then took back the thought as his knife switched direction. Blood dripped down his hand in murky streams, the sizzling pain of his cuts nearly breaking his concentration.

Granger might figure it out.

_Not her. Anyone but her._

Malfoy pressed his eyes shut, hoping to whatever cruel god that was still above him in the skies, or well, down below conspiring in the pits of hell, that Granger was not the person to solve him.

_She's the only one that cares, Draco…_ the voice was not his own, but Malfoy could just imagine his mother's calm, soft voice persuading him.

To have his mother back, he'd let the Mudblood anoint him if she really wanted. He would let her do anything.

_But she's never—coming_—**_back._**

Ignoring the steady stream of tears on his cheek, Malfoy carved just one more into his wrist. He hated how they all looked the same… Eihwaz was not a very interesting rune to look at.

But it was the only one he knew could help him.

**_-  
_****_-x-x-x-  
_****_-_**

**Author's Notes: **Well long time no update? I think this is sufficient enough; we're finally dipping into the real clues! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, despite the horribly long wait.

So, predictions anyone? Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to **FAITHFUL WHEEZY**, one of my bestest fanfiction friends! And I did a hell of a lot of research on the runes… I'm not making anything up!

The wonderful beta is **Weirdly**! You're amazing!

Thanks for reading! **Please review!**


	9. Learning

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, merely this plot and some random OC Hufflepuff… yeah, he definitely owned.

Sorry for the long wait. School is absolutely horrid. But, let's get to the story!

**Forever and Always  
****By Darkwing731  
****-  
**((--Chapter Nine--))  
Learning

-

_Granger might figure it out._

_Not her. Anyone but her._

_Malfoy pressed his eyes shut, hoping to whatever cruel god that w__as still above him in the skies__ or well, down below conspiring in the pits of hell, that Granger was not the person to solve him._

_She's the only one that cares, Draco… the voice was not his own, but Malfoy could just imagine his mother's calm, soft voice persuading him._

_To have his mother back, he'd let the Mudblood anoint him if she really wanted. He would let her do anything._

_But she's never—coming__—__**back**_

_Ignoring the steady stream of tears on his cheek, Malfoy carved just one more into his wrist. He hated how they all looked the same… Eihwaz was not a very interesting rune to look at. _

_But it was the only one he knew could help him. _

-

"The knowledge of healing is one of the most essential things that a wizard can know. If wandless, both potions and pastes can be made easily, provided the maker is not a complete imbecile and can work without magic," Snape drawled. "Already Madam Pomfrey has expressed that she is low on both pastes and medicinal concoctions. Would anyone like to hazard a guess at her most frequently used paste?"

Hermione's hand was not the only one in the air today; pleased that someone of his own house knew the answer, Snape selected Zabini.

"The one she uses for bruises, sir," Zabini answered. "The proper name escapes me."

"Correct. Ten points to Slytherin," Snape said, lips curling into an unpleasant smile. "And what medicinal herb is used in this paste?" The Potions Master glared at Zabini for not knowing the answer, and he was forced to call on Hermione.

"Very well, Granger," he said reluctantly.

"Arnica, sir," Hermione said eagerly. "It also reduces the inflammation in wounds, and helps sprains—"

"I didn't ask what it did," Snape cut across sharply, and Hermione fell silent, lowering her hand.

"Now, who can tell me what arnica alleviates?" Flabbergasted and annoyed, Hermione glared at Snape as her hand shot up. He smirked at her, and called once again on Blaise Zabini.

"It helps sprains and inflamed wounds, sir," Zabini offered, throwing Hermione a malicious smile, which she countered with a fierce glower.

"Correct again. Ten points to Slytherin." Hermione scoffed loudly, and Snape turned his attention onto her. "Is something wrong, Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to snarl, for the first time she could ever remember, a retort that would surely cause Gryffindor to lose more than fifty points, but the unexpected opening of the door stopped her.

Almost as if he had imitated Ron in his growth, a tall and gangly Colin Creevy entered, looking sheepish and nervous. The fifth year quickly delivered a note to Professor Snape, before giving Hermione a friendly smile and leaving as swiftly as he could.

Snape ripped open the note, read it over and crumpled it in his hand. "Malfoy, go to the Hospital Wing."

"Why should I?" Malfoy snapped back, hunched over in his seat and livid. Snape's lip curled.

"Your presence is requested," he said softly, dangerously. Snarling audibly under his breath, Malfoy gathered up his things, pushed over his cauldron in an act of recalcitrance, and stormed from the room.

When every eye had left the back of the room, the students settled their gazes on Snape, who looked as if he had been forced to drink a potion that Crabbe or Goyle had made. His sharp eyes rested on Hermione, who defiantly looked back at him.

"Five points for your cheek, Granger," he snarled. Hermione gaped at him, and before she could stop herself, "Professor, I didn't—"

"Interrupting my class? Five more points!"

_Git_, Hermione thought irritably.

_-x-x-x-_

"I swear, if I hear another professor lecture me about NEWT's—" Ron snarled.

"Give it a rest, Ron," Hermione sighed. "It's like fifth year. We can't do anything but study."

"Forced labor!" Ron cried, stabbing his dinner plate angrily; "I'm losing sleep over all of this bloody homework."

"God forbid _you_ don't sleep well," Hermione snapped. "None of us are, if you haven't noticed!"

"I haven't noticed, because I've been too busy with homework," Ron growled at her, shaking a fork menacingly in her direction. "Don't make me add you to my list, Hermione."

"List? What list?"

"Of people I'll have to kill because they lectured me," Ron said simply.

"_Ron_—"

"Hello Hermione." Said girl spun around in her seat, but not after seeing a dark look cross Ron's face.

"Justin," Hermione greeted. She had to admit, it was a bit odd for him to talk to her during dinner, and only shared Ron's uneasiness.

"Professor Dumbledore informed me that our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is arriving tonight," he told her. Hermione scanned the staff table, realizing for the first time which seat had been empty.

"I completely forgot!" Hermione said. "Who is it, do you know?"

"Someone named Tonks," Justin said offhandedly. "I dunno her, but—"

"_Tonks_?" Ron spluttered. "_Tonks_ is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"What, do you know her?" Justin asked, at the same time swinging a leg over the Gryffindor bench and squeezing in next to Hermione. She watched as Ron's eyes narrowed, but he ignored the Head Boy's actions.

"She's a bloody brilliant Auror! A bit clumsy, I have to say, but she's a member of—"

"Ron!" Hermione said warningly. She turned to Justin; "A member of the Auror department." Justin quirked an eyebrow.

"So if she works in the Ministry… how do you two know her?" Justin asked slowly. Ron and Hermione exchanged hesitant glances.

"Erm…"

"Anyway, Hermione, I came over because I was wondering if you'd like to get together soon," Justin continued, smiling. Ron coughed loudly and started choking on his pumpkin juice.

"To work on—on rounds and prefect meetings?" Hermione asked quickly, hoping to keep Ron's anger at bay.

"Yes," Justin agreed, and Hermione deflated in relief. "That and other things."

Ron's indignant comment went unheard as the great hall's attention was diverted to the doors. There was a loud bang, a shriek, boisterous laughter, followed by Harry, Ginny and Tonks entering as calm as day.

The threesome parted, and Harry and Ginny rushed over. "You'll never guess—"

"That Tonks is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Ron asked, grinning.

"Had to steal my thunder," Ginny said. She spotted Justin next to Hermione, and observed the Head Girl's discomfort. "Hello, Justin."

"Ginny, Harry," he greeted warmly. As the couple sat down, Justin stood up, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder, his fingers too low to be interpreted as friendly. "Think about what I said, and we'll make a date."

"F-For prefects and things," Hermione squeaked, flushing. The Head Boy nodded, squeezed her shoulder and left, fingers trailing on her shoulder before he walked away completely.

"I _cannot_ believe him," Ginny blurted out, giggling.

"I'm going to set him straight the next time I see him," Ron snarled, now brandishing fork and knife in the air. Harry frowned at Hermione as he pulled food onto his plate.

"Haven't you told Justin about Ron, Hermione?" Harry asked, and her already scarlet cheeks turned darker.

"We never got around to talking about it," she choked out, wincing a little at Ron's furious gaze.

"Well get around to it, or I'll get around to hexing the living hell out of him," Ron snapped.

"Ron, please don't—"

"I don't want him fancying you, Hermione," Ron interrupted flatly. "You're _mine_, not his!"

Hermione immediately flared up at this comment. "I don't belong to _anyone_, Ronald!"

"You're _my_ girlfriend!"

"I'm not your property!"

"But you're _my_ girlfriend!"

"Attention, students!" Dumbledore's strong, venerable voice echoed across the hall, all conversations ceasing at the sound, and Ron and Hermione's argument halted for a moment. "Whether it has gone unnoticed or not, I would like to introduce to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Tonks!"

Tonks stood up with a wide grin, and waved vigorously to the students, knocking McGonagall's hat in the process. Her hair was lavender purple and curled around her ears, giving her the appearance of a small violet flower.

"I am terribly sorry about the absence of a teacher. For the past month, everyone has enjoyed an extra class in which they could do what they pleased," Dumbledore said. "This will change, starting on Monday, so in the meantime your Head of House can fix your schedules." His speech was met with groans and disappointed whispers. "Thank you for listening, you may return to your delicious meals!"

"At least we'll have fun this year," Hermione said thoughtfully as the conversations picked up again.

"I wonder what she'll be teaching us," Harry inquired.

"Disguise, stealth, fighting tactics, a combination of everything we've learned in that class. This is the year we'll actually be dueling each other," Hermione informed him at once.

"Hopefully Finch-Fletchley's in our class—I'll have an excuse to hex him!"

"Don't start with this again…"

Their bickering continued for the rest of dinner, through the halls and into the Gryffindor common room. It was only when Ron began repeating that Hermione 'belonged' to him did the Head Girl pivot on the spot and leave the common room.

"_Empathy_," Hermione spat to the portrait, entering the head tower as Ron ran up behind her and started snapping at her. "And don't let this redheaded fool through!"

"Hey!" Ron said indignantly, but his angry expression was wiped from her mind as the portrait snapped shut, throwing a comfortable silence over Hermione's ears.

"Thank Merlin," she muttered. Meandering around the couch, Hermione pulled out her quill and inkwell, parchment and textbooks, and began her homework. She worked well into the night, only pausing a few times to fetch a drink or a snack, before returning to assiduously finish her work.

While Hermione could appreciate Ron's protectiveness, she just couldn't handle how overbearing he was. He wasn't controlling, Hermione mused as she scribbled down facts for Arithmancy, but he could be if pushed too far. The head girl was well aware how strongly Ron felt for her, for it was mutual. But she could sympathize with his raging jealously, because when Lavender had been around…

Hermione's Arithmancy paper had just been completed when she heard a loud disturbance outside the Head Tower. Setting down her quill, Hermione pulled out her wand and approached the main portrait, her frustrated thoughts of Ron pushed aside.

"_Stop treating me like I'm bloody four_!" The livid scream had become all too familiar, and Hermione gasped sharply and jumped away from the portrait as if Malfoy had been hiding right in front of her.

"If you continue to act so irresponsibly, Draco, then the staff has no other choice!" Hermione clutched at the couch, trying to make sense of Snape's concerned, albeit sharp voice as he quarreled with Malfoy.

"I'm not a child! I can handle responsibilities, and I can take care of myself," Malfoy snarled, his voice slightly muffled by the portrait, but still amplified due to the corridor outside.

"Clearly you cannot," Snape said coldly. "Madam Pomfrey has informed me of your physical state—"

"_I'm fine_!" Malfoy screamed, but it wasn't strong; his voice cracked, sounding feeble and desperate. There was silence in which Hermione thought her heart might break free of her chest because it was pounding so hard.

"Draco, let me help you." It was almost impossible to discern what Snape had said, but Hermione was sure the Potions Master had said it with a rare gentleness.

"I don't _need_ help," Malfoy snapped sourly. "I'm perfectly fine."

"I can understand if the death of your mother—"

Hermione scrambled to grab up her things and run up to her room as swiftly as possible as Malfoy started bellowing at Snape; curses were thrown, screaming howls ensued and, just as she was able to shut her bedroom door did the portrait finally slam open.

"_Don't ever come near me again_!" Malfoy was screaming; Hermione involuntarily started applying protective wards over her door, yet she could still hear all the atrocities Malfoy hurled at his professor.

"If you think you can interfere… Don't _ever_ talk to me like this again! What makes you think you'd do me any good? You're so incompetent you can't even help the Dark Lord—"

"_Enough_!" Snape roared, a loud crash following his words. Hermione jumped away from her door, trembling, listening in horror to the fighting below.

"If I can kill, why can't you, Snape? _Why is that_?" Malfoy screamed.

"You are not a killer, Draco!"

"_I murdered her!_" Malfoy shouted hoarsely. "And it was exactly what he wanted, wasn't? Weren't you ordered to kill too? _But you couldn't, you let Androm_—"

"That was not incompetence, it was a mistake!" Snape spat. "The Dark Lord forgives what was out of my hands; I couldn't help—"

"So what makes you think you can help me, huh?" Despite the fact that Malfoy's voice was sonorous and vicious, she could hear the sobs that lay high in his throat, barely suppressed. Snape, apparently, could hear it too.

"You are not healthy, Draco," Snape stressed with a forced calm. "Mentally or physically. We can help you. You can heal."

"_Nothing_ can heal me," Draco said bitterly. A moment later, Hermione heard the slam of a door, and a heavy silence. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for the smallest of movements, but heard nothing.

After the surge of terrified adrenaline ceased, and her thumping heart quieted, Hermione began to step back towards her bed, wanting nothing more than to collapse into sleep and forget about the nightmare that was becoming her seventh year. However—

"_Granger_!" There was no mistaking the sharp, cold call of her name. Hermione, suppressing a small whimper, removed the wards on her door and timidly opened it, stepping out onto the landing.

Snape stood, looking oddly misplaced against the comfortable setting of the rest of the common room, at the bottom of her stairs. His beady black eyes glared up at her.

"You will speak _nothing_ of this situation to anyone, including the Headmaster. Am I understood?" Snape growled, lip curled into a sneer.

_How could he prevent me from doing so?_ Hermione still could not help but nod obediently. Snape narrowed his eyes at her, as if he could read her thoughts. Nervously, Hermione took a step back towards her room, but not before terror overwhelmed her as Snape drew his wand in one fluid move.

The force of the curse sent her staggering against the back wall, clutching her throat as she found herself momentarily bereft of her voice. Hermione's gasping prompted her speech again. "You—you _cursed_ me!"

"A Forbiddance Curse should keep you quiet," Snape growled, and a squealing, terrified cry escaped Hermione.

"_You are Forbidden to speak of the murder to those who know not_," Snape thundered, wand aimed, and Hermione's throat seized up again; her body convulsed, and she fell to her knees on the front step, clawing at her neck desperately.

"_You are Forbidden to reveal that which you know to the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter!_" Hermione twitched in agony as her lungs screamed for air, and it felt as if a hand was crushing her throat.

It was not gasping that conquered, but her terrified screaming that managed to break through; Hermione was writhing in pain on her landing, consumed by the fear that she would never be able to speak again, that all means of communication would be lost, that the world had turned upside down, and Snape was indeed evil—

"Hermione! _Hermione_!"

All sound came to a screeching halt within her, the chaotic fright in her mind wiped out completely in that instant. She remembered all that she had to, all of those people who loved her, who would care for her if she could not ascertain a way to live in society—

"J-Justin?" Hermione found herself cradled cautiously in his arms, tears staining his sleeves that dripped from her cheeks. Touching the wetness sent a jolt through her body, making her remember what had happened.

A chill fell down her spine, and with a tremble that echoed through her body, Hermione fainted against Justin's chest.

_-x-x-x-_

Three days later, Hermione found herself still apprehensive about stepping outside the Hospital Wing. Not only had Ron, Harry and Ginny plagued her with questions, but everyone was officious and determined to get through to see her.

But the worst… was Justin.

The head boy had seem to take the event too smugly; Ginny assured Hermione that the Hufflepuff had been bragging to anyone that would listen that _he_ had been the one to save her, and that Hermione ran into his arms when she had seen him.

"That is _not_ true!" Hermione shrieked as Ginny sat back with a smirk. "I-I was having a fit, and I couldn't _see_ anything, let alone walk!"

"Well tell that to him, not to me," Ginny said snidely. "He's not going to listen, you know."

"Of _course_ he's not going to listen!" Hermione trilled, fluttering her hands nervously.

"What're you going to do?" Ginny asked after a long, tense moment. The two girls stared at each other.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted in a whisper.

Ron was certainly not taking Justin's actions very well, either. The Weasley was itching to force the head boy off of his high horse before someone got to hex Justin first.

"It's like he doesn't even _know _I'm here!" Ron growled one night, clutching Hermione's hand in a painful vise-grip. "Word must have gotten around to him!"

"Boys can be… ignorant, Ron," Hermione murmured quietly, stroking the side of his hand with her thumb to placate him. "I'll tell him as soon as I get out of here…"

"Can I tell him?"

"You mean, can you murder him?" Ron stared into Hermione's eyes fiercely, and her heart seized up. She cupped the side of his face lovingly, but frowned.

"I don't like it, Hermione."

"I'm with _you_, Ron, you have to remember that. Even if… even if Justin managed to accomplish something, I'd hex him before you even heard about it," Hermione whispered. Ron's figure was suddenly closer than before; he settled next to her on the bed, leaning over her.

"I can't help wanting to strangle him," Ron sighed after a long moment. Hermione's hands moved from his face to the back of his neck; she pulled him closer.

"I can't help wanting to strangle _you_ for not trusting me," she murmured against his lips, as he stroked the side of her neck.

"I trust you," he whispered, lips against hers in a feather-light touch.

"Then let me deal with it."

"Not the same way you dealt with Malfoy, I hope."

Any hope of intimacy and expressing their affection for one another vanished in seconds. The serene, relaxed air had instantly fizzled, leaving behind an extremely irate girl and a suddenly bashful boy.

"Good night, Ron," Hermione said coldly, pushing him away. She pointed to the Infirmary doors in a frosty manner.

"I didn't mean—"

"_Out_," she hissed, eyes narrowed. Ron sighed with a forlorn look, but stood and exited without saying goodbye, or, for that matter, without apologizing.

And if Hermione hadn't known better, she would almost say that Harry was indifferent to everything. He sat almost raggedly in a chair and looked everywhere but at her. Hermione, however, was not trying not to meet his eyes either, fearing that if she did, she would be left gasping for air again as her body lost control.

Harry asked general questions, slowly, quietly, and reluctantly, it seemed.

"What happened?"

_You know what happened; it happened to you, _Hermione wanted to throw at him, but could only manage to choke out, "I had some kind of a fit. Madam Pomfrey wasn't sure…"

"But why were you screaming, then?" Harry inquired after a considerable pause. Hermione noticed how much he was fidgeting, how sharp his breathing was.

"I…" She hadn't had to answer that question before. "I'm not sure."

"But you were awake," Harry murmured slowly. "Was it in your head?"

_He's so close to knowing, _Hermione thought desperately. "It was all in my head."

Harry's vivid eyes closed slowly, and he wet his lips; Hermione could tell something was wrong automatically as he hunched over and wrung his hands. Fingers clenched and jaw taut, Harry opened his mouth to speak to his shoes.

"Who was doing it to you?"

And Harry's question verified her fears of his presence; it was like the hand of the devil, a thousand pounds of crushing weight, was wrapped around her throat. It tore her vocal cords and knotted her tongue, slamming all oxygen out of her lungs as soon as the surprise attack had come.

And like before, the only thing that saved her from the Reaper's hands linked together around her throat was the thought that if she didn't live, the people she loved would be devastated, that she would never take the NEWT exams, nor get her scores, that she would never become a healer, never take care of patients, and she would never, _ever_ be able to heal Malfoy—

"Potter, _get away from her_!" Hermione's hoarse screaming had alerted the nurse, who was frantically gathering potions and her wand. Madam Pomfrey shoved Harry away and with a great sweeping motion, Hermione lay still as the Nurse tucked her wand aware.

Hermione lay trembling, terror ripping through her insides, before her mind offered her a still, blissfully dark corner that Hermione crawled into.

_-x-x-x-_

Three days in the Infirmary would've been a week if Hermione had insisted leaving. After the terrifying reality that speaking to Harry could easily turn her into a screaming, jumbled mess, Hermione's return back to the school population didn't seem real, because she was scarcely seen outside of classes.

Hermione managed to avoid the panic that managed to trickle down her spine as frequently as the questions came. She threw herself into homework, narrowly evaded everyone that wanted to see her—including Ron, Ginny and Harry.

It was a constant fear that Hermione struggled to gain control over; meals were eaten in the miniature kitchen, homework was completed in her bedroom, and sleep… Hermione tried not to sleep. Encountering nightmares of that magnitude put her off slumber like a heroin addict seeing the affects of the drug.

However, this charade only continued for a week. Hermione situated herself in her kitchen, eating breakfast and finishing leftover homework hastily, when she simply fell asleep.

She had been in the middle of making a sandwich when Hermione suddenly felt lightheaded.

Putting down the butter knife, she blinked away the neon dots and stumbled for a stool. "I just need food," she mumbled to herself. She leaned over and clutched the sandwich that was still incomplete, and crammed some into her mouth.

Hermione managed to wolf down the small meal, but she felt as if she were hundreds of feet in the air on a broomstick. Moaning, she cupped her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to ward off the vertigo that was slowly overwhelming her.

The next thing she knew, Hermione was being tapped awake by her head of house, Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger?" The voice seemed thin and distant, as if they were shards of a dream. Hermione groggily lifted her head from the table, limbs heavy and resistant of her desire to move.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?" McGonagall's voice was suddenly sharp and piercing, and Hermione could only moan in agony; jolts of pain struck her temples, and she pressed her fingers against her eyes.

"I'm sorry," the Head Girl found herself apologizing. "I-I must've fallen asleep…"

"You've missed all of your classes," McGonagall informed her, sounding slightly disappointed.

Pain was shoved aside as horror washed over Hermione's mind. "_I've what_?"

McGonagall sniffed, "I was notified by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley that they hadn't seen you all day, and nor had Madam Pomfrey. The only logical conclusion was that you were here."

"_But __why didn't someone wake me sooner_?" Hermione spluttered hysterically. "I've missed everything—all of my notes, all of my assignments, and—and what if I've missed a test? Or—or a vital grade? _What if_—"

"I was also informed that you have not been acting yourself lately, Miss Granger," McGonagall cut across sharply. "I can only assume this is because of what happened… last week."

_You must mean Snape cursing me. Well yes, that is why I've fallen asleep, though it seems bizarre_, Hermione thought irritably. Rubbing her wearing eyes, she nodded.

"I've been having awful nightmares about it, and I suppose I haven't been sleeping because…"

"You wanted to avoid them. I see," McGonagall sighed. "Well I'll have Madam Pomfrey supply you with a good stock of Dreamless Sleep potion."

"Honestly, maybe I can try without that," Hermione said hastily. "If I could just—"

"You've missed an entire school day due to exhaustion. This cannot happen again, Miss Granger, not if you are Head Girl," the Professor reminded her sharply, and Hermione shrunk in her seat.

Thus, the next day Hermione found herself carefully arranging several bottles of Dreamless Sleep potion on her bathroom counter. They would leave no lasting effects if she strategically weaned herself off of them.

Having gathered all her missed assignments and notes from Justin, Hermione sighed and packed her book bag for the day. For the first time in the week, she would be eating breakfast around her friends in an attempt to normalize.

"Morning," Hermione said timidly as she stood behind Harry and Ron. Ginny was smiling at her from across the bench. Ron scooted over to make room for his girlfriend, and when she sat down next to him, he laced his fingers in hers with a squeeze.

"It's nice to have you back, Hermione," Ginny said.

It was then that Hermione grasped that she had _missed_ them terribly, and felt like an imbecile for acting the way that she did. The week she had spent alone was filled with a constant fear, like a shadow that was forever blocking the light. She had fought the desire to be with friends simply to evade being strangled by the invisible hand of Death again.

But Hermione could see now, it wasn't worth it.

The situation was similar to the situation with Malfoy. At first, Hermione had cowered at the thought of being in the same room with him—but now, weeks later, she was bantering just as strongly, forcing pain onto him instead of the other way around.

"And I'm glad to be back," she said quietly, but they could all hear the sincerity.

_-x-x-x-_

"What's all this?" Justin's curious voice broke through Hermione's euphoric reverie; she blinked and looked around.

"Presents… well, belated presents," Hermione murmured, glancing at the tags. Ron, Harry and Ginny had meant to deliver her birthday presents earlier, but due to the events of the prior week, that had been next to impossible.

Ron had given her a gleaming silver necklace embracing an iridescent sapphire; Harry had supplied her with a new edition of _Hogwarts: A History_, and Ginny had given her the best gift of all: A Pensieve.

"When was your birthday?" Justin moved around the couch and sat down next to Hermione, too close; a brief thought crossed her mind, illustrating Ron screaming and shouting, and Justin's defense shattering as the two boys got into a fist fight. "Hermione?"

"Sorry," she said hastily. "The eighteenth of September."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked with a grin, placing a hand on her arm. "I would've gotten you something."

Hermione glanced at his hand, flushed, and shook her head quickly. "No, no… it's not a big deal, they went out of their way anyway…"

Justin shifted on the couch, and their knees were touching. "No, honestly, I'd love to get you something. What do you like?"

_He's leaning forward, oh dear Merlin_… "Err, nothing. Please—_please, _don't get me anything. It's not worth it! I-I don't need anything—" Hermione's voice climbed higher as Justin leaned towards her.

Paralyzed and forgetting even the simplest of movements, she could not help but feel relieved when Justin simply brushed her cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Jewelry? Earrings?"

"Stop, Justin," Hermione advised, relief flowing through her body. Taking his hand, she placed it back on his leg with a friendly squeeze. "Thank you for offering, though."

Justin stared down at their hands, and for the infinitesimal second that the head boy locked eyes with her, Hermione recognized her mistake; she withdrew her hand as fast as she had regretted squeezing his.

"And thank you for the notes from a few days ago," she said quickly, hoping to steer away from an awkward conversation. "I would've been lost without them."

"It's my pleasure," he said warmly. "Anything I can do to help."

_… The Hufflepuff had been bragging to anyone that would listen that he had been the one to save her, and that Hermione ran into his arms when she had seen him…_

"Actually I need a little help with something else," Hermione began slowly, crossing her arms. Justin seemed to recognize the subtle change of attitude, and regarded her cautiously.

"What can I do?"

"I'd like to know why you've been telling everyone that 'I ran into your arms' when I had that fit," Hermione hissed. "You know very well that I didn't!"

Justin's cheeks flushed a pale red as he stared at Hermione's shoes. After a tense moment where Hermione glared at him, grinding her teeth audibly, he mumbled uncomfortably, "I suppose I was just livening up the story."

"_Livening up the story_?" Hermione repeated, seething. "Do you think that my uncontrollable, possibly life damaging _fit_ is an interesting story to _tell_, Justin?"

"No," he uttered, scarlet creeping up his neck.

"Then _why_?" she growled.

"I-I guess I sort of did it, because… well…" In that moment, Hermione wished she hadn't asked, and wanted nothing more than to go back and snatch the question from his mind. Justin slowly looked up, staring into her eyes, and did something that she knew would haunt her entire year. "I wanted everyone to think that you liked me, because…."

Hermione's thoughts vanished as her body seized up in alarm. Her mouthed formed a perfect 'O' of a horrified surprise, of dread that weighed down her body. Noise ceased to exist in her throat for that moment, and bereft of speech, she couldn't even begin to think about what to say.

Justin had put a hand on her knee.

Hermione's heart nearly jumped out of her chest when the main portrait door slammed open. Both heads flinched, and watched with wary eyes as Malfoy stormed through the common room, muttering "Mudbloods," under his breath, and shut himself up into his chambers.

She had never felt more grateful of Malfoy's existence.

If her voice hadn't been unreasonably high, Hermione wouldn't have realized that she was talking, pushing Justin's hand away in the same moment.. "I'm just going to take these gifts up to my room."

Snatching up the parcels like a starving man would clutch at bread, Hermione's feet flew up the stairs, and her back was pressed up against her door before she could even gasp.

_Justin just _touched_ me in—in a suggestive way__. What do I do? How do I tell him to sod off? How—how can I make him _leave

Gifts dumped unceremoniously onto her bed, the head girl dived for her book bag, hastily retrieving a piece of parchment and a quill. Breathing unevenly in shaking pants, she quickly wrote out her name before rolling up the paper and sealing it.

She clutched the scroll in her hand and opened her door, descending the steps as if she were sliding down them. "I've just gotten a letter from—from the headmaster." She waved the scroll for proof, although the blurred object was moving for quickly for him to read. "He'd like to see me in his office. I have to go," Hermione spluttered in a rush.

Making quickly for the Gryffindor portrait, she ignored Justin's cry of, "But that way is longer!" before slamming herself into a Hufflepuff-free haven.

"Hermione?"

"Oh Ginny, thank God," Hermione choked, lunging forward to grab onto the youngest Weasley. Ginny shied away from the head girl as her fingers latched onto Ginny's shoulders. "Justin—he's-he's gone and—and—!"

"Gone and what?" Ginny asked slowly, prying Hermione's fingers off one by one.

"Touched me _knee_!" Hermione hissed hysterically. "I don't know how I escaped—but he's never going to leave me alone after this!"

"Ron," Ginny suggested simply.

"He'll make it worse," Hermione predicted darkly, knowing it was true. Ginny stared back into Hermione's wide, anxiety-ridden brown eyes, before a slow smile snuck across her features.

"I think… I know what to do."

A few hours later, Hermione found herself following Ginny, more reluctant than curious, to the Room of Requirement.

"Honestly, I don't know why you won't just _tell_ me," Hermione groaned.

"I like surprises," Ginny pointed out. "Trust me, you'll love this." Hermione rolled her eyes, but continued forward as Ginny opened the plain black door to the Room of Requirement.

"Who's here?" Hermione asked suspiciously, and frowned in confusion as she observed Seamus and Dean longing and laughing on what looked like gymnastic mats.

"Hey Hermione, Ginny," Dean greeted warmly. Ginny grinned.

"She's so unaware," the redhead said, and the boys laughed.

"We're going to teach you how to wrestle," Seamus said to Hermione's puzzled expression.

"Basic moves. I know them," Dean informed her. "With my brothers, I've got to." The boys laughed. "Ginny told us about your abusive cousin."

"My _what_?"

"You know, the one that you _see on Christmas_?" Ginny stressed, glowering at the head girl.

"Oh. Erm, yes. He's very… physically violent," Hermione agreed, throwing an uncertain glace at Ginny.

"We're going to show you how to take him down," Seamus said with a mischievous grin.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look; Hermione looked uncertain, but Ginny, on the other hand, looked eager.

_This… will not be fun._

_-x-x-x-_

"So… so a single leg and a sweep single are the same?" Hermione repeated.

"No. They're very similar, but not exactly the same thing," Dean corrected as they walked in for lunch. "It gives quite the same result though."

"If applied correctly," Hermione muttered. "I'll never remember any of this."

"You don't have to know the names," Dean soothed. "Just how to do the moves."

"How to do what moves?" Ron's irritable voice demanding from behind the pair.

"Later, Hermione," Dean muttered quickly, and he was off before Hermione could even begin to protest.

"What was he talking about?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Quidditch," Hermione snapped. Ron narrowed his eyes.

"You're lying," Ron accused.

"And you've got red hair," Hermione shot back. "We were talking about football, actually. You know how Dean supports West Ham?" Ron grunted in conformation. "Well, you see, I've got a cousin that plays it, and I'd gone to watch his game. We were discussing tactics." Hermione miraculously didn't trip over her words at the lie.

"Oh."

_How did I accomplish that?_ Hermione mused to herself, but proudly.

After that, she and Ron continued up the path to the castle for lunch. Hermione excused herself to visit the Nurse—ever since the fit, Madam Pomfrey had been giving her a week's supply of Dreamless Sleep potion.

Hermione pushed open the Infirmary doors, wishing she hadn't a second later.

"I don't see the use in these _bloody_ potions!" Malfoy's scream of rage would certainly echo across China if his voice bellowed just a little louder.

"Your body is _still_ in the condition that it was last week—not only are you resisting taking these potions in my presence, but you refuse to _eat_!" Madam Pomfrey seethed. "_Drink these or suffer the consequences_."

"Go to _hell_," Malfoy spat, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it seemed they would never come undone.

_I've got to leave_, Hermione thought nervously, but just as she went to step back out of the doors— "Miss Granger, come right back in here."

_Malfoy's positively going to murder me_, she thought, her body filling with dread. Avoiding Malfoy's piercing, irate glare, the head girl followed Madam Pomfrey to the Potions cupboard.

"I think you should start weaning yourself off of these, Miss Granger," the nurse advised. "In the short term, dependency is rare, but if you take this consecutively for about two or so months… sleep won't come naturally."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione promised, stowing away the vials. "Thanks."

Hermione rushed out of the ward, ignoring the chill of fear that trickled down her spine from Malfoy's sharp eyes. He would corner her again, she knew that he would.

_But thanks to Dean and Seamus… I'll be ready._

Harry, Ginny and Ron were discussing Defense Against the Dark Arts enthusiastically when Hermione finally sat down for lunch.

"Her class was bloody brilliant," Ginny gushed. "She gave us the rundown of the school year, and then she did some demonstrations of what to do and what not to do for non-verbal spells…"

"I heard she hexed someone," Ron said.

"It was by accident!" Ginny defended. "Although it was a Slytherin…"

"With her grace, she could've gotten away with it," Harry pointed out, and they guffawed loudly.

"When do we have it?" Ron asked Hermione, eager for Tonks' upcoming lesson.

"Last today," she answered. "I'm really looking forward to it."

Lunch went by quickly, and while her friends debated over what would be more exciting—Tonks hexing someone on purpose or letting the students do it for practice—she mulled over what she had seen in the Hospital Wing.

_Something__ about Potions…__ Madam Pomfrey said something about lack of nutrition and plain __neglect to Ginny and I before__. And today she said that he wouldn't take his potions willingly. And I knew he wasn't eating, but now he's going directly against the professional help of the staff… _

_B__ut he's taking them! _Hermione's mind argued fiercely. _If he's taking them, albeit unwillingly, he's still taking them! How can the effects of the potions not set in? Unless he's—_

Hermione's sharp gasp of realization broke through the animated conversations of the Gryffindors. While Harry, Ron and Ginny clamored to pull the truth from her, their cries fell on deaf ears. Hermione was hurriedly packing away her things, a horrified hand over her open mouth.

_He's doing it on _purpose_! How _could_ he?_

Dashing from the great hall, Hermione tried to recall the nearest bathrooms—

_He wouldn't go to a frequently used loo. He's not that stupid_, Hermione understood. _The only place he would be—Moaning Myrtle's._

And sure enough, as Hermione collapsed against the wall outside of Myrtle's bathroom, gasping for air, she could hear retching and vomiting from within.

_I can't let him do this to himself!_ Hermione thought fiercely. _First he won't eat, but now he's purposefully vomiting the only help they can force him to accept? He's going to kill himself!_

A melancholic truth washed over her mind, and Hermione eyes fluttered closed as her chest seized painfully. The crushing comprehension of Malfoy's actions made her nose sting and her throat dry up as if she hadn't had any water in days. Her body trembled, though she wasn't cold at all.

_That's what he's trying to do… he doesn't want to be alive._

_**-  
**__**-x-x-x-  
**__**-**_

**Author's Notes:** Yeah, so um, how long was that update? I'm really sorry. I've been extremely busy with schoolwork and life, and I have barely enough time for homework, let alone fanfiction. I'll try to work on this more often… but I can't promise anything.

A huge thanks so **Weirdly** for betaing this for me!

**Please review!**


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